


Dragon Fire: The Hand of Thoth

by Where_the_wicker_ends



Series: Dragon Fire [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Complete, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Multi, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Tevinter Imperium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 146,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Where_the_wicker_ends/pseuds/Where_the_wicker_ends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fog was both the weather and their thoughts in Seheron. His people breathed it from birth, harnessed it in age, and twisted it in the hearts of their enemies in death. He had always expected he would know no different. But when someone close to him destroys what stability and safe haven his people have, he must make the choice.</p>
<p>Will he search for his Dragon Fire, or will he let those he cares for burn in another's flame?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**A**

_9:05 dragon_

_28_ _ th _ _day of Solis_

 

 It had been many years since he thought about running. His eyes would flash open and trees, much closer to the ground than he could remember, would smack into his shoulders, his ankles. Or, perhaps, his size was far too large. He would keep running until the forest became still. His chest would thump, and perspire would fall down his chest. It felt real. It was real-- for all intents. In the silence, the absence of leaves rustling in the wind and birds chirping in the sky, he heard owls hoot in the night, "Ashara. Ashara." like a chant calling out. They spoke a name that he was no longer allowed to speak and that was when he knew it was a dream. He was nameless. He remembered. The dream would collapse, colors would go gradient and his warrior's name would be warbled in the ensuing tornado destroying his forest. His home.

He was meant to awaken.

 _Plunk_  

The arrow embedded itself an inch shy of the target—a red ribbon tied around the thick of the tree.  He stood near his father—wearing the white clay of battle on their skin— standing on the highest branches of the tree several feet above ground and a few feet distanced away.

The older elf furrowed his graying black brows and shook his head. "Da'len, you haven't been practicing have you?"  

 “I practice every day, every hour, and every minute.” The younger elf crouched to his knee and pulled the bow back to his side with another arrow on his fingertip. Although younger, he had pale white hair braided tight against his scalp in three twists, swinging in his irritation.  “Not that it matters.”

“It will when our enemies attack. Will you run then? Apologize and say that you’ve practiced every day, every hour of every—

“I get it, father.”

Eastern clans had been overrun in the last five years by the Qunari. His father said it was because they had gotten sloppy and arrogant. The Tevinters were losing ground again and in the constant tug of war there was little else on his people's minds, those who sat in-between, than to fight against the squeeze. In the years past, he'd seen other clans turn on them and into the hold of the Qun faster than they ever had at the mention of gold. The Qunari convinced them that fulfilling a purpose as a cog in the world’s machine gave them value that their present lives didn't.  This didn't mean the Tevinter were losing bodies. Mythal be praised, these Tevinters were clever. They offered them immortality with only the payment of their life.

"Your naming ceremony  will end soon." His father's words hung in the air muddled underneath his false expectations and the last few failed training exercises like fog. It would be true for others his age, but he was not like others his age. He had never been like the others.

"And if it's not."

His father said nothing for a moment. The statement was irrelevant. He had no choice in this. It was his  _destiny_. 

"Do you remember the story?" His father’s voice said with the solidness of stone and the rigidity of a mountain. He couldn’t help but falter in his response. The young elf broke focus and his eyes veered on the elder. “Does anyone?”

"Our family line stretches back to the days of Arlathan. Much of what we do now is a dim reflection--the ceremonies and clan politics."

The young elf sighed, before turning back to the red ribbon—taunting him; while the stories of Arlathan, the Pantheon, and Elvhen once excited him, they now did little more than poke at a scabbing wound unlikely to ever heal.  Tales of fantasy, magic, and adventure that kept him up all night had little strength against the reality.  He was never going to find it—whatever it was—here on Seheron surrounded by war. His whole life, an adventurous tale, was a dream.

Sweat piled up on the edge of his fingertips as his heart pounded.

He let the arrow fly and it was the sensation pulling out from his eyes and his ears where time disappeared. He could not see. He could not hear. Time had skipped. His parents once told him that he was the unsung song of his ancestor's. His achievements were musical notes to be written by his hand.

"But our greatest honor of all was Dragon Fire."

When the arrow spun in the air and missed the target, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was born tone deaf.

"Da'len."

The young elf hissed. "The stories were wrong. The tales, the dreams, the Elvhen, it doesn't exist." He resisted the temptation to break the bow and watch the shattered remains plummet to the ground. His hand clenched and unclenched. 

What kind of elf was he that he couldn't shoot a bow?

"There is no pressure." His father said. "The clans will learn. They cannot depend on the Nazari forever."

What his father would never speak aloud is that they  _have_ depended on their clan for nearly eighty years to be the burrow that turned the water into the river. Without a new warrior head, there was no stability and no structure.

No hope.

His father had trained and mastered swordmanship younger than he was now. War sung in his father’s blood, so he believed that one day his child would hear the song too--especially a child born with white hair. The young elf knew his father was disappointed but wondered why his father was so surprised. He had shown skill in little else but in hiding and toxins--the coward's skills.  "Centuries ago--

He sucked in a breath and pulled the bow taut with the arrow sliding into place along his fingertips once again. His eyes narrowed and he didn't hear his father speak. He imagined to know them better than his father now.

"Emma lath! Da'len!"

The thick forests of Seheron had been thinned by fires and the carnage of battles fought. There were large gaps between trees and wide open spaces of broken towers, the shattered remains of their history.  It was no doubt far from an equal match for his mother's voice, a timbre sound that flew up the trees to their ears like a winged hum. His father's heavy hand rocked against his shoulder and his shadow disappeared down the tree trunk and through the leaves.

His fingers fell slack knowing that it was another day he had not grown and he had not _become._ Become “what” he did not know but the deep-seated notion of his talents and skills hiding underneath his skin was as fleeting as the clouds in the sky. He imagined them just as unattainable.

He spit over his shoulder and shot the arrow. 

 

* * *

 

 

  Wisps of fog flitted around him as he stepped out from the forest into the flatlands. He cupped his hands around his mouth and chirped into the air. The blinding, humid fog dissipated and his village appeared ahead. He ran forward and slid down the hill into where the twenty odd huts, the feast fire pits, and the Clan Head's house sat. The huts were made of twisted tree trunks and leaves. A few of them had glass decorating the doors and the window perches to add variety to the village. Unlike these homes, the Clan Head’s house was made of two contortionist trees merged at its side and splitting at their roots milling in the dirt like jumping fish. Villagers walked around its emerald green leaves in their dug in paths watching them curl above them like woven threads. Children ran under the roots and swung themselves off it like a playground. But like most villages, those were on cooler, freer days. With the noise on both sides of the island raising in pitch, there was rarely a time you would catch their villagers doing anything but sewing furs, skinning animals, and wrapping plants prepping for them to be dried. The tension was thick and unspoken.

"I hear someone needs more training." A voice teased behind him.

The young elf tossed a lazy look back at the girl. "No one can be good at everything."

Carin is Inan's, the clan head's, daughter. Carin’s father had called himself “Inan” as his people’s custom was to be called an animal that represented their clan, but the Nazari had no symbol or crest to represent them. His resolution was to simply call himself “leader” in Alamarran--the Avvar language. Their southern neighbors lived in high mountains and were a burly, strong people. Many of them shared that bright red hair on their heads like Carin and Inan. 

"Someone isn't very good at anything." She said in a sing-song voice looming over him by a few inches. "I've had a boyfriend before you. Been in a battle before you. I'll probably get a house and have apprentices before you."

"You'll die before me at that speed too."

"Stop being bitter."

He held back a harsher retort. Carin didn't deserve his spite. She wasn't the failure of an ancient legacy. She did her job properly. "And this is why people don't like mages."

Carin blew a raspberry and it was like they were kids again. How long had it been since their ceremony began? Six years since he decided to dedicate himself to the life of battle and nothing else. 

"Tevinter loves us."

He tossed an incredulous look and opened his mouth to speak only to reel back when Inan clapped a hand on both their shoulders.

"And," the aged, wizened voice of Inan spoke, "They would kill us at the first chance. Mage or no mage."

"Dad." Surprise colored Carin's cheeks. 

"You've got to take the bad with the good, sweetheart." Inan tugged at his reddish-brown beard and grinned before turning to the elf at his side. "And you, young sir, ought to bathe the paint off before dinner. We'll be having it at the house tonight. Don't be late."

The young elf nodded and moved out from the older man's uncomfortably tight hold. "I thought you and father were meeting with the clans today?"

Inan blinked and then laughed, slapping a hand against his shoulder. "And here I thought you were too busy with your training."

He opened his mouth to ask another question when Carin jumped in. "Aren't we having nug chops?"

He didn't answer his question. 

"Of course, my dear."

 

 

The showers were on the other side of the village in the opposite direction. He flipped his braid over his shoulder and ran back to the entrance, swiveling through the open area fire pits. The showers were pipes and faucets imported from Tevinter, gears and sprockets from Qunandar but the water came straight from the lower hills of Seheron.

He twisted the faucet and stood under the water, closing his eyes only to feel. . . nothing. He blinked and then squinted up. The switch was turned on and he had never heard of a time that the water didn’t work properly.

He crouched to the pipe and pressed his ears against it. He followed it back up the hill listening for the squeak of water pressure. It took him back through the thick fog, toeing close to the ground. His feet silent against the grass. He heard only his own breathing as he flipped underneath the pipes and reached a sharp decline.

He still couldn't hear a thing. He leaned closer until his ear was touching the hollow metal when he finally did begin to hear sounds, except that they were voices.

He flattened his body to the ground and crawled closer to the voices until the trees opened into a camp below. Armor squealed against armor clanging in movement as they marched around their tents. Nearer to the back end of the camp, sat a desk with a man writing on parchment. He figured him to be the leader for the level of shininess on his armor and the size of the tent he sat against.  The opening of his tent hanging wide but still not wide enough for him to see what he was writing.

Loud hooved steps stomped to the right of him, he flattened himself even lower into the grass when a horse flew past right into the camp. The messenger unhooked himself from the horse as the young elf huddled to hear the conversation between the messenger and this dark-haired leader.

"Knight-Captain, the Mad Ox is at it again. He has divided his troop and begun moving shipments to avoid a siege."

"Those elves doing a better job than us?" A humorous voice replied, "And, let me guess, you don't know where the deserter is."

The messenger frowned and then began tugging at his collar. "Well, sir, we tried, but then those Fog Warriors appeared and—

The Knight-Captain raised a placating hand. "No worries. I will handle the rest. Have you heard word of when my brother will arrive?"

"No, sir."

"Good."

The messenger fidgeted uncomfortably before saying, rather slowly, carefully, "Is there a reason why, sir? Should we expect trouble?"

The Knight-Captain gave a very put-upon look on his face and made a heavy sigh. "Funalis begins soon and that means trials for the Hole. One of my very least favorite duties."

"Everyone makes it seem as though watching the chosen are well worth the visit."

"Indeed." The Knight-Captain answered with an annoyed tone. He waved his hand. "Off with you. You have work to do."

"Of course, sir."

The young elf pulled his attention from the camp below and slid around the other side of the pipe. He kept low to the grass until he saw the loose bolt on the pipe. Leaning forward, lower on the decline, he stretched downward. His hand twisted the screw until it couldn't be twisted further. He crawled backwards, pushing back up the decline with another glance at the open tent before getting up entirely.

 

* * *

 

 

 Nug chop stew was a delicacy here not because it tasted especially good--because it didn't-- but for its rarity. Since he was little, the sister clans stifled in the current climate. Food was scarce because trade was weak as the Qunari Tevinter war had spread tilting in favor of the Qunari and, as his father said, Qunari Years were a desert. Traders feared them too much to appear and like a drought without rain there was little trade. His people specialized in hunting and produce--fowls, rabbits, and every other fruit and vegetable you could ever imagine--to their benefit. Their plot of land was more fertile than all the others in the River and it was a known fact among traders. The celebration of their success was understandable but this--

This meal was not  _right._

 _"_ Pass the leg. The left one. This nug clearly hobbled a bit before it's death.' Carin's mother said. She was setting the table and had proved him wrong. They were having nug.

His parents, unlike Carin's, instilled in him a lukewarm modesty for this one reason: "to be prosperous does not mean to prosper over others but to prosper as themselves." It meant your own achievements are worthless without purpose outside of you. If you are it's only purpose, then all you commit to is greed.

So he was prideful of his few talents. He took only what was needed. He did only what was necessary. Flashy maneuvers were absent.

They weren't Tevinters.

Matters only worsened as he got older. Others, even other villagers, didn't see the purpose in sacrifice. To them, he looked weak. He felt it too. It was this coldness, this guilt that gnawed at his needs to express his cleverness to impress them. His parents weren't fools, but who would ever know? At sunset, he always disappeared with the shadows.

So, for Carin, who simply wanted everything and, unlike him, wasn't afraid to ask, it created this cesspool. He thought it was harmless then. Growing pains.

It wasn't.

 His foot knocked against a pointy metal object under the table that stubbed his toe as it squeaked. Inan, Carin, and Carin's mother giggled as soon as they heard the sound.

“It’s one of those Orlesian bath toys.” Carin giggled. “They’re so aristocratic.”  

The house was full of strange odds and ends from bottles, cork tops, clinking stones, and shriveled up grass. Carin's mother was a mage too--the resident healer. He's heard the stories of Orlais. It was everything his parents taught him to dislike.

The spoon in his hand stirred in the bowl when the table shook at their laughter, he mumbled, “And obnoxious.” remembering the words his own parents had said.

"And you thought a nug was a pet." She answered, dismissive as if he was a bug. The words rolled out of her mouth so easy that he half-believed she wasn't teasing him in her usual kind yet cruel manner.

It was true.

 He had never even seen a nug outside of a cage and the tradesmen from the southern lands always brought a good weight of them on hand.  One of them told him that nugs could grow to be the size of a small dragon. Carin called him an idiot. And he probably was. He knew that he was allowed to have dreams too. Dreams weren't exclusive to Carin, and as soon as he opened his mouth to say that he snapped it shut again. 

He's forgiven her already.

His mother cleared her throat and outstretched her hand to catch the bowl his father poured for her. She passed him one thereafter. Clean of the white paint, his skin was back to its natural burnished brown.  He was a happy median between his mother and father's, who was closer to his own but darker. For dinner, they sat at the long bench table with his family on one side and Inan's on the other. A large bowl of stew sat in the middle of the table as each of them had much smaller bowls and a slice of bread in front of them.

His mother said. "You brought out those dried flowers then? Your mother told me you were collecting herbs for practice." 

Carin sighed, dramatically, "Can't you smell them? They're supposed to be a rare breed of daisies."  He couldn't help but choke on his soup even after Carin tossed him a dirty look. Weren't daisies weeds? Her studies weren't that behind.

His mother knocked her shoulder against his as if admonishing and he went quiet. A second later he could see a smile beneath her hand in his peripheral. His mother was too clever by far. It was then he heard his father's voice but he only caught the end of the sentence and none of what it meant. So he listened carefully to Chief Inan.

"We've split up our men to cover more ground, but," Inan lifted up a mug of mead and swallowed quick. "We'll have to send more men to our brothers and sisters in the west. Anyone you recommend?"

"Inan," His father's voice paused to scoop up a chunk of meat and vegetables from the stew, "you know most of our men are out checking out the tradesmen."

"There has to be someone left. Even a few are coming back tonight if I remember," Inan raised a thoughtful hand and continued, "Even that fisher, ah, what was his name again?"

"Halesta."

Inan snapped his fingers. "Exactly!"

"All this movement from the Qunari in the north and the Tevinters in the east making you uneasy, finally? We should plan to hit a few supply camps and record their trade routes." His father answered. His father sipped the stew and then leaned forward, whispering to Inan. "I have an idea, old friend."

Carin cleared her throat and drew his attention. She slid a note across the end of the table, blocked by the random odds and ends decorating it.

It said:  _You know why we did that. Split them up._

He raised his eyes and mouthed, "Why?"

She furrowed her brows and answered, "You." and then when he shook his head, she gestured, pretending to shoot a small bow, "Mentor. Training." 

He mouthed back, "When?"

She shrugged her shoulders. 

Their fathers' voices lowered until they could no longer hear their conversation.  He turned to his mother and Carin's who also spoke in hushed tones but loud enough for him to hear. He contemplated telling his parents about the Tevinter camp he had seen. On the other hand, their village's protections would keep them safe and the Tevinters seemed more focused on attacking the Qunari than his people. 

And, if he did tell them then he would have to fight. Alone. Fear struck his spine like branches in the snap freeze. No. He would wait until the warriors came back.

"I don't trust that Kellis." His mother said. She hadn't touched a bowl of her stew but neither had Carin's mother. Contrary to both their mothers, Carin slurped her bowl like it was going to run away from her if she stopped. 

His mother had long thick rivulets of hair that held together like airy sticks of bread. It reminded him of when he was small and she would hug him close as she baked fresh loaves. She would put him down and click her music box, one of the few things she kept from her old home, and she would dance as the dancer in the box would with long flowing steps, her arms lifted in the air, around, then down. She had a long scar cut across her eye down her chin along her arm lightening her otherwise dark brown skin. He always noticed it particularly when she would dance.

His mother had told him that she was raised in a place called Antiva.  It hadn't been the Qunari or even the Imperium but these people called the Crows that scarred her. She was lucky that his father's previous clan was traveling by. "It was pure luck you were even born." they said.

He hated it when they said things like that. Always did. It wasn't luck that he was born. It was something that simply  _was._

Carin's mother nodded with a deep frown. The outlines of the frown lining her face as if she had been stressed recently. "I don't either, but he's the only tradesmen willing to travel around these parts."

She wore a full-bodied dress, much like Carin, or, perhaps, it was the other way around. He was told it was a thing mages wore—long and inflexible clothing.

"Kellis?" He asked. He turned to both women but no one answered.

Carin, with her mouth full of food, said, "Heb's the gyb bwe geb ball bower ingrebients fromph."

He retorted. "Sorry, I don't speak Tevene."

Carin rolled her eyes. She repeated. "We get our ingredients from him. Like elfroot, spindleweed, and even dragonthorn. He has everything."

"Yes," Carin's mother said distastefully. "He's rather useful."

Carin added carefully. "I put the shipment in for the elfroot but I couldn't carry it all even with the villagers help. He said to come by tonight to pick it up, if I could. He's leaving tomorrow and—"

"Absolutely not!" Her mother said sharply. "You can't even raise your shields yet. We'll just have to find some other way."

"Well—

Carin's mother swung around at Inan's interruption. "Josef, you can't be serious."

His father spoke instead, "Well, Josef and I do have most of our men returning tonight. If anything were to happen—

"Exactly!" Inan said. His heavy hand smacked the table. "And we'll need those elfroots for when the men return anyhow."

"Fine," Carin's mother relented. "But I don't want her going alone."

This time, his mother took a sip of her own mug of mead before stating that he was going to tag along too.

There was no discussion of what he wanted to do—of course.

They stood outside the Clan Head house after dinner as the sun fell below the eastern skyline and it stained the clouds a water-colored blue and purple streak. And the sky, like a blank canvas, turned to black. The stars like riveted holes appeared hovering above them and he wondered if the sky was not one whole layer but three like the water pipes. It made him wonder if it mattered that their pipes mixed the worst of Seheron into something usable and useful. Perhaps that was his problem. He was the result of a warrior leader and thrice struck with luck survivor. The opposite could be just as true.

 His mother pulled him aside to the right of the contorting trees and she sat on the thick root pulling out a leather notebook out from behind her apron. "This journal is important to me, important to you. You will need to record the things you learn. One day, as you watch your own children grow, you will record the things that they are yet unable." 

He shook his head at his mother. “You know that I can’t—

“Nothing is impossible,” His mother returned and she handed the leather journal to him, “when you know where you’ve been and where you’re going. Tomorrow, I will tell you of our birthright, but, for now, I want you to read our history—the true history.”

His fingers graced the journal and felt it to be as rough and jagged as he expected it to be.  It wasn’t a familiar texture—fuzzy and smooth. “What is it made of?”

“Halla leather and ancient tree bark.”

A part of him wished that it wasn’t elven. It was too beautiful and too different. Once again he was reminded of a tree he would never see and an animal that he would never meet. He opened his mouth in curiosity, “There must be things about me in here.”

"Things about our family, our lineage. You were a relatively average elfling but there were a few notes here and there."

"You didn't write about the poisons, did you?"

"Poisons are not the work of the underhanded." His mother chided. "You have just as much right to be talented in toxins as Carin is in healing."

They had this argument a hundred times before. If there was ever a skill he did have, it was in sniffing out poisonous and healing herbs.

"My grandmother was an assassin. I like to think you inherited it from her." His mother added.

"What is an assassin?" His mother rarely spoke about her family and his father about his. He knew more about his ancestors of a thousand, even two thousand years ago, then he ever learned of his grandparents or if he had uncles and aunts. When his mother sighed, he pulled the journal close to his chest not wanting to appear ungrateful. "I don't know much of anything. I have nothing to add."

His mother put a gentle hand under his chin and smiled. "Da'len, we never know until we do. The pages will fill up faster than you think." She kissed his cheek and shooed him off.

Carin rustled around inside her house, knocking bottles around, and arguing with her mother on what was the proper spell for any given situation. He waited outside for what felt was too long and the journal yanked at his curiosity too hard to ignore.

Scattered among the rumored clout of his people, the People, this journal made those ethereal stories seem rocked in reality. Those few pages they read stated that in all of time and land there was nothing more valuable than the belief that their lives could be better—hope.  Yet, he didn’t believe it. Three pages that depicted a world wrought in war and destruction long before Tevinter and Qunari were names. Clearly, there had to be an ancestor of his that was a little too drunk, a little too insane, and a little too clever to write so convincingly. Civil war destroyed the elves. 

He stared up at the moon, pale and grey, as if growing ill as the night passed. It would be a shared sentiment between. There had to be another explanation. He would ask his mother the next time they spoke.

 

 

* * *

 

 Creatures of the night whistled and clicked in the trees, the bushes, and the ground around them. The forest paths winded and there were few actual roads to follow. It would be at least a few hours travel and they would not make it back to the village until morning. He left his white paint behind as well. In the dead of night, there was no use in dressing in warrior streaks. His bow felt stiff against his shoulder blades. It shifted uncomfortably digging into his bone and tickled his hand.

"You  _do_ know how to shield, right?"

Carin huffed.

"I'm serious." He repeated. He wasn't sure if it was the air or the fact that he hadn't ever ventured out the village with the moon and not the sun in the sky. His instincts were itching him. The sound of branches cracking underfoot didn't sound the way they did during the day.

"Of course I do. Mother was just kidding." She retorted. "It's not like the wards where I need a key to open it or ingredients for a potion. It's easy."

He tossed a look of disbelief. He added, "Healing potions?"

Carin cursed, "Scitte, really? I’ve been training for years."

"Really." He paused. "Have you ever fought before?"

"Have you ever fought before?"

"I asked you first."

"Well, I also know how your bow training went and—

"And, what?"

"You know the answer. Don’t play dumb."

He stopped and looked at Carin. He repeated. "You spoke to my parents."

“More like what they said to mine.” Carin sighed and lifted a hand to her forehead. "Look, all of us have 'things'and maybe hunting isn't your 'thing'."

He felt as if someone had slapped him in the face. The indent and bruise now swelling on his cheeks. "I'm an elf."

"And I'm a human. It doesn't mean I want to live in a circle or in mountains with goats." Carin shivered.

"A circle?"

"It's not worth explaining, just know that they suck."

"Unlike you, I don't have a choice. The other clans need stability." He shot back. She patronized him as if he was to blame for his bowmanship as if he had no reason _not_ to be good; like a mage born with magic an elf was born with the skills to hunt. And a part of him agreed with her, perhaps that was made this so infuriating. She complained about her choices when his stood between living in packed, dirty cities or traveling the land without a home, a country to go to. His life as it was would be the best life for him. A Fog Warrior or nothing at all.  "An elf that can't shoot a bow or hunt is like an elf without ears."

"You'd just be a short human then, that's not so bad."

"But I wouldn't  _be_  human—that's the point."

"The point is—

The heavy sound of footsteps and rustling stomped. He motioned a quick hushing motion and they both crouched to the ground.

A deep, nearly growling voice spoke. Through the shrouded leaves, they could see two Qunari bare-chested with the leggings of their warriors and weapons on their back. They stood at a height taller than Carin. "Have you seen anyone?"

"No," said an equally, perhaps slightly less growling voice, "They're looking for the Saarebas. We will choke them at the midpoint."

"One less Tevinter." The first voice added.

The footsteps stomped off until they went quieter and quieter into the night. Carin and him didn't start to move until the footsteps fell to silence. Carin breathed first. "We should turn back."

He could hear the mirrored anxiety and fear he felt finding its way through his own body in her voice. He wanted to go back. Yet. . . he shook his head. "We can't. The others should meet us on the way."

"And if they don't?"

He didn't want to think about what would happen if their first line of defense was gone or even captured. They would have to merge with another clan just to keep safe and things were already too unbalanced as it was. "They don't where we are or what we'll see. If we find out what's going on, then we can tell everyone back home."

"It's only a good idea if we don't get caught."

Yeah, he was fully aware of that.


	2. Chapter Two

_29_ _ th _ _day of Solis_

 

 

He was told a nightmare for a story the first time he learned about the Qunari. These large people with horns on their head that converted--killed, if they were lucky--every person they found. But he had been called "beast" before. He had been called "creature". He always wondered if the similarities stopped there. 

They sat in the bushes watching the crackling fire of Kellis' pit. With a ball of pressure and their dinner spinning at the bottom of his stomach, he tilted to the side of the fire and spewed sick onto the grass. Carin covered her nose with the collar of her mage dress. In Kellis' camp was the strewn dead bodies of their comrades, all nine of them were dead.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit." Carin paced the edges of the camp and mumbled. She pulled her hands out from her sleeves and nervous sparks snapped from her fingers. "This is bad. We have to warn everyone."

"Calm down." He hissed. The unconscious need to move had him fidget awkwardly like a puppet in a puppeteer's hands who had little practice. "This may not have been the Qunari."

"What?" Carin swiveled to him. "Look at them! Their chests are ripped out."

"The bodies are missing blood and innards." He gestured closer to the open wound of their chest. He dabbed a hand and the twisting sound of shifting flesh sounded. Carin immediately turned on her side and copied his action of earlier, getting sick all over the grass. His fingers were dry. "It's like someone drained them of it."

"Maybe they eat blood."

"I don't think so."

Carin hunched over in the grass. He heard her stomach garble. "We have to leave. I can't take this smell."

"Check the area outline. I need to finish."

"Fine," She answered but stood up unsteadily.

He watched her wobble outside the camp until her shadow blended into the darkness. "Don't go too far!"

The air smelled pungent with herb and electricity. Although he could see the bodies, chest cavities opened and empty of flesh, he's smelled more rot from dead rabbit carcasses--a sickening thought. His stomach twisted. This had been recent. Far too recent for even the scent of their bodies to settle and worse yet he had never felt such evil. The tenseness of the air and this tightening in his chest was unlike his nightmares of failure. Eyes were drilling into his body from the trees, the sky, and the ground like spectators. This was the feeling of being hunted.

He counted them while checking the bodies. All were recognizable. His father had trained them and, briefly, he saw their living expressions. Four of them died in their beddings. Three of them were killed in random spots with blood smears on the grass nearby. Except for one, one who was twisted on her side—like they had been fighting something or someone. But the last one—

He twisted around and recounted. No. He had been right. Someone was missing. He wanted to feel hopeful that one of them had survived, but something wasn't right about this. Half of them had been killed in their sleep and a few of them had died fighting but not as seriously as they would if someone larger than them had attacked--like Qunari.

Someone they trusted had killed them.

 He brushed through a loose stray curl as if that could silence his rampant thoughts. There was only two possibilities. Kellis betrayed them or one of their own had turned on the clan. Neither of those events sounded very good. He heaved a heavy sigh and scavenged around the camp for any weapons, potions, and anything else that could help them. He shoved his jittering hands to be held behind his back. He couldn't let Carin see him like this.

They had to be strong.

He pushed through the thick foliage around the camp and called as both loudly and lowly as he could. "Carin, where are you?"

"Over here." She hissed.

He followed her voice to find it in a tree above him and Carin sitting in the branches. She gestured above herself to the higher branches. He climbed on the sides of the thick bark, hooking his hands until he reached the higher branches.

"Tell me what you see." She said from below him.

He nodded and inched ever closer to the edge of the branch until he could see the lights of lanterns, hundreds and thousands of lanterns. His hold went slack.

There was an army out there.

"What do you see?" She called up.

He didn't reply. He swallowed harshly and then opened his mouth but no words came out.

She repeated. "What is going on out there?"

"They're going to fight."

"What?" She hissed. "I don't understand. Who is going to fight?"

"The Qunari and the Imperium. There's an army, and—

"Pull me up! Now!"

He hung his body down over the branch and dropped his hand for her to catch. He pulled her up and she leaned forward towards the thousands of lanterns lit up as the groups of Qunari huddled together in the forest miles ahead.

"Carin," He said carefully, buzzing burring in the background of his mind like static. "We can't fight an army."

"That's obvious, stupid. We have to tell everyone."

"We won't get there in time."

Carin huffed. "This place has always been a warzone. This isn't anything new."

"But—" He realized he hadn't told her of what he had found out at the camp. But the thought. . . no. Carin was right. They had to go back to the camp. He shook his head. "You're right. Let's go back."

She tossed him a strange look and then slowly crawled down.

He could see the flickers of flames waver in the distance and, although he couldn't hear the sounds of their feet, he could pretend to hear the loud stomping against the ground. If Qunari deserts meant starvation, then Qunari battles were decimation. The heavy footsteps of armor slamming into the ground and marking their terrain as finally being overrun sat in his mind.

The war had finally found them. Their games of hide and seek were over. Was nowhere safe in Seheron now?

He swung below the branch and let go.

 

                                                                          

* * *

 

                      

 It took them far too long to reach the camp--nearly a day and a half--when the main army splintered off. There was only a small group still marching on towards their camp and even with the unfamiliar hills they seemed to have already been through. Their village was dismantled.

"The wards!"

Carin ran forward through the hill near the village entrance. The fog, their only protection from the outside, was gone. They slid down the hill and bulleted forward into the village only to meet with silence. Carin breathed heavily, hunched on her knees panting. When she gathered her bearings, she hissed, "Look around, see if you can find anyone." She ran forward towards the Clan Head's house, leaving him to stare at the vacant inner village centre.

"Morena! Alpeksha! Iora!" He shouted out as many names as he could remember, "Fravun! Miadahl!" His shouts went unanswered.

His feet rubbed against the grass and he could hear the sounds of the forest for the first time within the village. The snap of branches and the chattering of insects in the air. The buzz of humidity. He had always wondered how the village always stayed cool during Wintersend. 

He reached his parent's hut and with sweaty palms opened the door. It creaked open in the silence. But as was with the rest of the village, no one was to be found. He checked the foyer where his mother's shrine of Falon'din and Sylaise sat on the table with paintings on the wall of the Great Hunt of Andruil. His hand brushed against the textured paint, the cold wood. Fingers scratched against the sides and a sharp hatred threaded in.

He exhaled. They weren't dead. They couldn't be.

Salted fish sat on the racks in the kitchen as chunks of ice melted in the carrier below it. He tilted his head in confusion. There were spells placed on the carrier to keep the ice cold. Someone had removed them. He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a dagger. It was his mother's from Antiva. He crept around, through the kitchen into the main area where a small unlit fire pit sat. His mother had left books and pens lying around, while his father had left maps scattered on the table nearby. The untidy mess was an unwelcome sight. Still, there was no blood. No fight.

He flipped through the small maps for notes or signs. The maps too were unfamiliar. There was nothing here.

The wood flooring creaked breaking his focus on the intricate maps. He pressed against the wall following the _other's_ creaking sounds. He pushed through his parents' locked door and his own closed door to the storage closet at the end of the hall. Someone was rifling through the storage and speaking, "Where is it? It has to be here. I know it. Kaffas!". A human stood in front of the closet tossing things out of it. Heavy and hollowed thin metal objects hit the ground, rolling out into the hall and knocking into his feet when a globe flew out smacking into his lower knee. The rustling froze.

Kellis' head peeked out from the closet and he wasn't sure what possessed him to stride forward, striking the dagger close against Kellis' throat. Kellis wasn't a short man but those frilly-collared tunics he always wore made yanking him down so much easier. He slammed Kellis' head into the wall next to the closet and scowled.

"Wait! Wait! I swear, I'm totally innocent." Kellis said with hands raised up in surrender. "I swear it."

His lips curled into a feral twist. "Eight of our warriors were slaughtered in your camp."

"Ah," Kellis paused. "That is true, but—"

Carin's voice called from outside. "Did you find something?"

 He yanked Kellis out the house, dragging him violently until kicking him to the dirt floor of the front of his home. Carin paced back and forth. He watched her and wondered if she was going to be able to handle much more of this. He kicked the back of Kellis' knees and raised the dagger against his throat again. "Where is everyone?"

His throat jumped and graced the dagger's edge. Kellis said, while licking his drying lips, "Well, okay, that I can't answer."

He hissed. "What were you doing in my home?"

Kellis tilted his head, opened his mouth, and then shook his head. "Well, I know, for sure, that I can't answer that."

Carin breathed heavily. She pressed her fingers against her nose bridge. "What can you tell us?"

Kellis opened his mouth and then closed it. He opened his mouth again and then made a throaty, buzzing sound before closing his mouth again. He opened his mouth again but this time the young elf pressed the blade tight against his throat.

"Wait, listen, wait." Kellis squeezed out as his dagger drew tighter. "Lyrium. I was here for lyrium."

"Lyrium?"

Carin nodded. "Lyrium. Mages use it."

"Are you a mage?" He asked Kellis.

Kellis squinted his eyes and made that strange sound again. "Yes and no?"

Carin rolled her eyes. She questioned, pressing, "How can you be a mage and not a mage?"

"There are people with weaker magic who are sensitive to it, the fade that is, that can do  _things._  I can do some pretty good spells, enchantments actually, for a price, but I need lyrium. I come from a long line of mages, you know." Kellis added. He cleared his throat when all Carin did was raise a brow. "Nevermind, guess I'm not home, now, am I?"

"No. No you're not." The elf was starting to feel twitchy. He didn't like this. "Tell us where they took everyone." 

Kellis looked at the young elf and then at Carin.

Carin slapped a hand against her forehead and groaned. "I don't think he's going to be able to help us."

The blade pulled away from Kellis' throat. "What? Why not?"

Carin said pointedly, "Look, lyrium does weird things to people. I think he's sick from it."

"If it means anything," Kellis interjected with a nervous tone, "I also need some shoes."

Carin took a look at the man's bare feet when Kellis wiggled his toes. The young elf bit his tongue. "Fine, we'll find some shoes or boots to give him."

"You're both so kind, too kind to be what they say, that's for sure." Kellis sighed in relief.

His curiosity pulled at him too quickly. "What do they say?" 

"Beasts. Savages. Usually." Kellis drew a glance at the young elf. "But only your people can fight from the fog. Stories of painted warriors scare even the bravest of Qunari and Tevinters."

The elf twisted his mouth. "Lies. It's only magic and any mage can--

"No," Kellis added, "To this day. No Imperial or Qunari has copied it. In all of time."

"No one?"

"No one but your mages."

Carin burst in, reminding him that they weren't alone, "Not even we know it. It can't be spoken outside of the camp."

Before the elf could open his mouth, Kellis cut in, "Well, whatever it is, it's not magic that can be mirrored." His voice lowered, slithering into his ear. "Strange, though, why would your clan head let all his warriors leave?"

His eyes tightened and merchant quieted.Icy water churned in his chest. "There are no traitors in the Nazari."

Kellis tilted his head towards the elf. "You know, I'm not sick with lyrium. A mage would know that." 

"If you say one more thing, I'll cut out your tongue." 

Kellis huffed but said no more.

Carin, as if distracted, said, "What was that?"

Kellis gave a perusing glance at the elf and then turned away, whistling as he stared up at the sky.

"Nothing." was all he said.

 

                                                                       

* * *

 

 

 

He watched Carin as she became a different figure—a creature that looked more malformed than a Qunari ever could, while the merchant sat cross-legged behind them humming an annoyingly buzzing tune.

"Kellis needs shoes. Halesta's water boots might be his size."

Carin snapped, "That's almost on the other side of the village. He doesn't  _really_ need it."

Kellis added, finally putting a stop to his humming, "I beg to differ. The grass is wet. And gross. Soggy too, actually."

The young elf tried to motion the importance of the boots but it seemed silly each time he repeated it in his head. "No one is coming back here. They got what they wanted."

"Fine."

He bent his mouth into a smile like wood, brittle and textured, one that she returned before disappearing down the dug path. His smile fell from his face and he dropped to Kellis' level. "What do they want?" He pulled the dagger against Kellis' throat just enough to create a line of red. His hand was shaky. The feeling of anger weaved back into his fingers. Twitching.

Kellis swallowed harshly. His throat pressing more into knife. "They're here for the Hand of Thoth—the Tevinters."

"And the Qunari?"

"To kill us? Look," Kellis said quickly, when the dagger tightened against his throat again, "The Qunari don't like us. We've been fighting for, what, two and a half centuries. I swear to you that, that's why."

This was starting to sound more and more ridiculous. "What does it do? This Hand of Thoth. Some kind of magical bomb?"

"What? No, it's nothing like the Gaatlok. We're talking magical additions to mages  _and_  non-mages. Every single person will be able to do the littlest of magic. A pure, uncorrupted piece of the Fade."

It sounded like an awful idea. "Sounds great. Then Tevinter will stop all their wars and help their people."

Kellis blinked. "I guess it won't will it. Not that it matters. No one knows what it looks like. It could be a book, a spell, even a toy rattle." He dusted off his pants and sighed.

"And they think a clan of elves, have it?" He said to the merchant, who pretended to have not heard a word.

"I can't say."

One more lie to add to the pot.

Carin made her way back to them with thick brown boots in hand with her own shoes sloshing on the way up. She held them in front of her dripping water and wet leaves stuck to its soles. Kellis held the boots by the tip of his fingers in disgust.

"Is there—?"

"Take the boots, Kellis." 

The mage, not-mage, fumbled with the damp boots and slipped them on easy enough. "Fine. I'm putting them on, see? I can leave to my death then."

The elf tilted his head. "If you want. We don't have what they want."

Kellis shot him a disbelieving look. "Right. Well, I would say this was fun, but, then I would be lying. If you see me again, don't say hi." The merchant disappeared into the trees sounding worried for them. It almost sounded believable. 

He rubbed his eyes and finally felt the heat for what it was. Exhaustion was in every bone in his body. They hadn't slept in hours. He wondered if his parents ever complained about the weather. Likely not.

"I'm surprised you let him go." Carin said. Her face fell into a contrived expression. It was the kind of look a mouse has or a trapped nug. It didn't fit her. It wasn't worth her face.

His tiredness came out in his voice. "Why?"  

"It's just—sometimes, I really wish you were a mage. Then you'd understand."

"Their camp has to be nearby." He ignored her the wheedle for what it was knowing that every fiber in his being wanted to scream, 'No. No, I wouldn't because I would never betray my family, my friends, for what?'. He could control himself for a little longer. "You know that--you know mage doesn't equal Tevinter."

"You're so naïve, you know that?"

He breathed out, carefully. "It's in the direction following the pipes. Stay close."

Carin frowned. As he moved forward, he couldn't hear Carin's footsteps.

"I don't think we should leave. We can't do anything by ourselves."

"I'm going to find my parents. If you want to find yours--"

"Of course, how could you say that?" Carin said, annoyed all of a sudden. She breezed past him.

His eyes followed her walk up the hill. "Good."

Carin stilled.

For a second, he wondered if she knew that he knew. "What?"

"Which way are we going?"

He swallowed a laugh and a well of sickness sat in his stomach. His chest twisted when he grinned. "Keep going straight. I'll tell you when to turn."


	3. Chapter Three

 

“You’re acting strange.” Carin said as he counted the pipes and retraced his steps of the previous day. She shuffled forward, scrutinizing his face.

He replied offhandedly, feeling his heart thump harder, faster in his chest. “Oh?”

“You're hiding something. I can handle bad news, you know."

Crouched in the same spot as before, there were far less soldiers in the camp, and, in fact, there weren't any soldiers marching. He expected most of the forces were pulled to fight the mass exodus of Qunari spilling into the other territories.

They climbed down the pipes and reached the main tent where he _knew_ the leader was. As soon as he took one step forward, he froze. His whole body was stuck in place. He couldn't move his fingers, his tongue, his lips. Nothing except for his eyes. The main tent flap flipped open and the one he remembered as the “Knight-Captain” walked out with two soldiers trailing behind. The soldiers, unlike earlier, were dressed in heavy metal armor and pointy helmets.

“It’s a paralysis trap.” Carin hissed before even her neck couldn’t be moved. 

"So, are you the little deepstalkers crawling around and getting into trouble?" The Knight-Captain said with a wide smile on his laugh. He barked out a laugh. "I guess you can't answer me like that now can you? Release the wards."

"Are you sure, sir?"

The Knight-Captain gave another piercing look. The humor was gone from his face. Air pushed out the young elf's chest as the ward broke and the Knight-Captain lifted the boy up by the chin. It was like matching the strength of a nug to a muscled wrangler. The Knight-Captain turned the boy's face from side to side. "What kind of elf paints his hair but not his skin?"

"The kind of elf that doesn't paint his hair at all." The elf spit back. "What kind of human murders people in their sleep?"

"Ah." Was all the Knight-Captain said before dropping the elf back to the ground.  The mounds of dirt pressed down at the drop. He wheezed, feeling the trapped air rattle out his throat. The human could've crushed his throat easy.

Carin hissed in his ear and grabbed at his shoulder. "Stop antagonizing him." The two soldiers lifted up the tent flap and the Knight-Captain sat at the table tapping a quill against it. Tap. Tap. Tap. He clenched his hands into the dirt as the Knight-Captain looked down at them, recording their appearances for review as he imagined all Tevinter to do before their daily slaughter, and began scribbling away. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Where are my parents?"

The Knight-Captain's lips curled. "Tell me," He dipped the quill in the ink well before scribbling again. "How would I know that, elf?"

"Don't call me that."

"And what should I call you? White hair. Thief. Deepstalker? I like that one."

He remembered the heaviness of the moon and its weight upon his escape. Soulless and detached, it stared down at him as he ran through the branches. It stood over him again, still heavy in the sky and he fell back into the Knight-Captain's overbearing gaze.

"No name then."

"Evunial." He broke out. "Evune, too. Same name."

The human tilted his head with a half-smile and closed the letter, handing it to one of his guards. "You may call me Davan. No need for the Knight-Captain." 

Evune swallowed harshly. "Can you help us then?"

"You are from the Nazari clan, I believe?"

Evune nodded.

"I know exactly what happened to your friends and family." Davan leaned forward, his bulky armor and shoulderplate spikes screeching in the movement. It was a coarse, shrill sound like a guillotine. Evune believed that was the point. "They were interrupted by a Qunari scouting group. It seems our information was somehow compromised."

"Shit." Carin said behind him.

"I'm sorry to say that very few of your villagers made it out alive. Perhaps if the wards had stayed things would be a different story, but—"

"Oh god." Carin grappled forward, knocking Evunial to the side. He had disliked her, temporarily, of course, for so many things previously. What was one more. "Did you find what you were looking for, at least? Please, my family, they were promised—

"Ah, you must be the Clan Head's daughter, the healer, correct?" Davan said drolly. He scratched his nose and pulled out a handful of letters from one of his drawers. His sword at his side clanked against the table post. "I have your father and mother's letters here. They really wanted you to shine in Tevinter, didn't they?"

"Yes, Knight-Captain, I've lived here all my life and all I've ever wanted is to leave. To  _be_ something. Away from this place." Carin bowed to the ground and begged.  He thought it was pathetic and pitiful. He really hated her then. "If there's a way I can prove it, I'll do anything."

The Knight-Captain stood up and walked around the table. He leaned forward on one knee. "The name is Carin, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Such a young thing." The Knight-Captain smiled. "Did you know what your trap would catch? It was well-thought. My men didn't even understand it."

"My father helped. My only part was to meet at the camp to meet your army's mage." Carin replied, she lowered her head back to the dirt before raising it up again, "I apologize for being forward but you don't look too much older than me and you've done well for yourself."

The soldiers behind the Knight-Captain gave each other looks as the Knight-Captain laughed again, a thicker, throatier laugh. His humor had once again left him like the snap of rope.

"Oh, you can accredit that to my family name in part." Davan paused and then shook his head mournfully. "But, you are right. Old enough to know better."

Evune could see the Knight-Captain's hand twitch at his side and the coarse, shrill sound right before. He lunged forward but it was too late. The Knight-Captain, with hands quicker than Evune's muddled mind could follow, yanked out the blade and shoved it through Carin's chest. Blood pooled in Carin's mouth and spilled from her lips. It stained his arm and dripped below his elbow red silver in the sun like a blade itself.

"His name. . . he lied. . ."

The Knight-Captain wrenched the sword out from her chest, cutting her words off immediately, and splattered the blood on the dirt as he shook it clean. "A traitor, even in the end,"  He slid the blade into his scabbard and stared right back into Evune's hateful glare. "A simple deserter reconnaissance mission turned into a search for a strengthened blood mage. You can thank your friend here for that. Presuming _all_ mages from Tevinter were from our army."

"She wanted freedom." The words rang false even as he spoke them. It wasn't worth it.

"Is the elven word for freedom the same in standard?" The Knight-Captain laughed. "She sacrificed your villagers without certainty. And your leadership, I can see your clan had no hopes of survival."

“My father is not the cause but your own people who told them those same words a thousand years ago.” Evune seethed. At the thought of his father, he turned away from Carin's body unable to follow his parent's reasoning. Disgust wriggled inside him as he thought, viciously, "I was right." Dead before him. 

The Knight-Captain tilted his head as if in agreement. “Ah yes, and how well is your bare to the teeth survival working. Living is a rather positive concept. Is your life worth living?”

"If I was rabid, you would already be bitten." Evune said. He gritted his teeth, twisting himself in knots as he tried to stop himself from saying more. The guards appeared preoccupied with the perimeter while the Knight-Captain hassled him. "These blood mages, they drain a person's blood.”

“Yes, hence the name _blood_ mage.” The Knight-Captain said. He crossed his arms. “Is there something you know?”

Evune wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Carin had killed members of their village, their clan, their _family_. Monster.  “In a tradesmen camp, there are the bodies of my clan drained of their blood.” Evune breathed out, feeling the air rattle in his chest. He would rip them apart like they were.

"Revenge is not the answer, elf." The Knight-Captain said, as if hearing the end of his trailing thoughts.

Evune hissed, "Do not tell me what I will do. My mind is mine."

“Never met a blood mage then? Lucky bastard.” The Knight-Captain said, brushing off Evune's words like lint. “Human, elf, dwarf, even Qunari sacrifices strengthen their spells. Not a very respectable kind of magic. Our soldiers are restricted from using it in the field.” He gestured to one of his soldiers and the men saluted before they began rushing around, packing their things. "We’ll need to warn the others. Inform them that the blood mage is using elves."

"I'm going." Evune added as the Knight-Captain turned away. "I won't be left here."

"It's almost like you don't seem very surprised by this." the Knight-Captain's armor screeched again. "Or, you have a death wish."

"I've killed Qunari before. Tevinter soldiers. I'm not afraid."

The Knight-Captain repeated, "Blood mages can make you do things against your will. Your mind will not be yours. So, while you can, _elf_ , run away."

 "And what do you know of free will?" Evune seethed. Elvhen did not abandon their peoples' dead bodies. They weren't Qunari. Allowing the thought, even a second to sit in his mind, tasted like bile in the back of his throat. "My village is gone. What would you do?"

"Betrayal is often a hard scar to heal from." The Knight-Captain said, self-reflecting on something Evune didn't want to know. Did not care to know. “But dying is not a bandage. Leave while--"

"Anything," Evune started. The Knight-Captain's eyes flashed and Evune didn't pull away. "Anything you ask, I will do. But, you must to take me to their bodies. I wish to bury them. Tevinters must understand that."

Without much sound, the guards and soldiers returned to stand behind the Knight-Captain barricading Evune. Even if he wanted to leave, it was too late now. And the Knight-Captain huffed, knowing this. He raised his voice.

"Yet, this all leaves me with a problem. What do I do with you?"

Evune repeats, "Anything." The footmen chuckle behind them and Evune starts to feel like the child the Knight-Captain had been calling him.

"Ah, little elven boy, you have no idea of the treacheries they do to your kind, do you? 'Anything', you say." Davan tilted his head. He tapped against his temple. "You're lucky I'm not a man like my brother." The footmen and guards go silent. 

He doesn't like the sound of this. His brother was likely a magister. "Your brother?" He asked. If he was hoping for an answer then, he was let down.

"And you're clearly someone who asks questions  and always expects to be answered."  Davan grinned. He moved his hands to his side. His sword jumped loose from his scabbard. "All these demands. . .have I suddenly become less frightening? Has your friend's blood already become cold?"

"Nothing is more frightening than Death." Evune hissed. "And I am not afraid of dying for my people."

"Only a child would think that. Plenty of things are more frightening, not dying, for example, could be one."

 "I'm above the age of majority for you humans, actually." Evune knocked the hand away. "Do not speak to me as if I'm a child."

"Yes, this definitely cinches it." Davan gestured to the two soldiers behind him. "Shackle him."

Evune jumped back but the soldiers quickly came forward and materialized a thick spell to bind his arms together. He looked at Davan quizzically shoving his fears down.

"All the elves were taken to Ath Velanis. "

"They're alive?"

"Possibly." Davan gestured his soldiers to look forward and away from Evune as he hunched forward hiding his face under his arms. "It won't be easy, Evunial." The Knight-Captain said, his face serious once again. "You'll be on your own. And this stubborness you have, this fire--only you will have the skill in keeping it aflame. Ath Velanis isn't a city or a trade spot. It's a prison. You understand?"

Evune would not bend like Carin. He would not be shaken from doing what was right.

"Worse yet, my brother will be there." The Knight-Captain continued. Evune drew a questioning glance. Davan quirked a smile. "My brother, the Archon of the Imperium, the leader and King of the nation."

Evune straightened his shoulders with resolution thickening his veins and blood.

He understood.

 

                                                                                   

 

Ocean waves whipped up and smacked against the craters, the caverns of broken rock hiking up the tall distance where Ath Velanis sat. The fortress had several barricades and gates that protruded rocks like blades with pointed cannons positioned on its corners. The upper level of the fortress stood like a granite crown amongst thorny vines. And Evune stood resolute as the soldiers yanked him along the path. The trip was a quiet one that took over the course of nearly three whole days. The Knight-Captain saw fit to feed him. He offered him blankets. Evune had the distinct impression that the Knight-Captain did not like war or fighting for how he led his soldiers and camped far from the battlefield. How his soldiers still respected a leader who refused to fight, now that was a question.

Davan stopped halted them in front of the gates. One of his soldiers shouted up, "Knight-Captain Davan has arrived!"

Several soldiers dressed similarly to the ones that had shackled Evune scrambled above them as the metal's heavy gears twisted, pulling open the weighted gate. This had to be done two more times before reaching the main area of the fortress. Each layer of the fortress had a few hundred soldiers and scouts camped with more weapons on the upper towers that looked like large metal spheres. The fortress was more than just heavy granite, it was impenetrable.

Evune had no idea how he was going to find his parents and much less escape. If there was ever a time for Carin,  _his_ Carin, the one whom existed as his close friend once upon a time, it would be now. He imagined she would say, "Listen but resist speaking and please, whatever you do, don't insult anyone if you have to. It  **never**  helps.".

A small smile pulled on the edge of his lips as he imagined her frustrated expression as he did those very things. The Carin who died was some replacement, even if he knew this to be false, his friend must have died long ago.

"What are you grinning for?" A gravelly voice sounded and the young elf realized the statement was pointed at him.  An aged man stood before him unwavering as the fortress itself. The dimmed torches gleamed behind the old man like a sole figure in a storm. The unblinking eyes stared him down like a foreign, unappetizing meal that couldn't be fathomed in all of its oddity. Evune felt small--he was a bug to this man. Of that, he was sure of. "An elf in a Tevinter prison. Stole a footmen's purse, I gather."

Evune dropped his gaze to the ground as the man swept his robe, a long deep shade of black like coal with golden spinning outlines of fire and sun, strips of cloth hung over his shoulder in a color liken to the rich red of blood and, briefly, Evune saw Carin's death over again as if the blood spilled over this man's shoulders.

Davan flew from behind Evune and swept forward to shake the hand of the older, lanky man. Davan pulled from the handshake and respectfully tilted his head. "He is from the Nazari Clan, the Fog Warriors. He helped us find the deserter's contact."

"Then the contact is dead."

"Yes."

The old man snorted. He turned to Evune's lowered gaze. "You may call me Divine Eristoceles, elf. Follow me."

Evune rolled his eyes. Only humans could make elf sound like an insult.

They followed behind the Divine for several minutes, listening to the echo of the soldier's armor and the sounds of conversation traveling through the halls. The halls were widely empty although he could hear the sounds of movement behind the walls, above the ceiling, and beneath his feet. Their only companions were the monstrous statues looming down from the ceilings and in the corners. Torches and fire flickered as if dancing along the walls and what was left of the day’s sunlight was already starting to empty. Davan's voice was the first to break the silence. "Is the Archon—?"

Divine Eristoceles swept his hand out. "Archon Vesces has told me to bring you as soon as I was able."

"Then, shouldn't I—"

"Where do you think I'm going, boy?" The old man finally cut in. His icy look freezing Davan in place like a scolded child.

Evune knew this voice well. Halesta often reprimanded him for switching the fishing hooks and using the wrong one for the wrong fish. His voice was much like that albeit older, more bitter. Davan slid in to walk beside him. He whispered to the Knight-Captain, "A relative?"

"An old friend of my father's." Davan crossed his arms and continued petulantly, "I'm the only—fasta vass—"

"Are you little brother? Color me surprised."

He finally noticed all the guards in the hall as they all in synchronization stomped their feet, slapped a fist against their chest, and bowed their head—even the soldiers holding his shackles.

The Archon wore a large robe, much like the Divine, but it had much more fabric, thicker gold inlines, and no actual designs sewn in. The hat upon his head was much more extravagant than the whole robe as it sat a several inches above his head and reminded him of the cannons at the ready above the gates with its sharp folds and varying shades of gold on the lining.

Looking between the brothers, their similarities began and ended with their dark brown hair. Where Davan was tan, Archon Vesces was paler skinned. Where Davan had dark eyes, the Archon had one natural green eye and the other a murky purple. And where Davan had no facial hair, the Archon had an organized thick stubble. He would've never known they were brothers if not for the obvious declaration.

Davan walked forward as if to hide Evune from the Archon's gaze when the Knight-Captain's voice echoed in his ear.  _"You're lucky I'm not a man like my brother._ "

The Divine bowed his head slightly as he said, "Archon Vesces, we were just on our way to bring a survivor of the Nazari Clan to his cell." Unfortunately, it seemed the Divine was not in on the plan.  Davan's sword hand twitched.

"An elf?" The Archon asked.

Davan cleared his throat and stilled his hand. "Yes, he is."

"Move out the way, brother." The Archon motioned his robe, sweeping it across the floor. Both the Divine and Davan moved out the way.

He couldn't lie and say that he wasn't two steps away from running in the opposite direction. This was the man who led a nation, who fought against the Qunari, and a mage. Instead of admiration, hate bubbled up inside him. This man.  _This_ man.

"And you're a Fog Warrior?" Speculation and incredulity coated and bathed the Archon's tone. "Companion adversaries against the Qunari? I imagined you would all be elves with the strength of dragons. Not. . ." The Archon gestured lazily. "This."

It was the last straw.

"And you're one of a hundred men that's led the Imperium who still can't defeat the Qunari." Evune said, coldly, "We have less than a sixteenth of your men and we've been holding them off all on our own for a century." Once he started, he couldn't stop. He could see Davan, over the Archon's shoulders, flash in surprise and warn him with his eyes telling him, "Stop while you're ahead."

But he couldn't. The anger, the frustration, all of it spilled out into words directed at the one person he knew  _for sure_ would kill him for it. He was starting to believe his clan really was dead. Tevinters were known not to be trusted. He  _knew_ this.

"And yet, who has your men now?" The Archon's voice deepened and his mouth tightened tautly.

"Congratulations." Evune said. He clapped his hands together as the shackles clinked beneath his wrists. "You found  _one_ clan with thirty people–some of them children. And it still took the Qunari to help you out."

The Archon's lips twisted into a scowl and his hands wrapped around his neck, pulling up his face. The hold around his neck wasn't tight enough to choke but enough to make his lungs burn and his eyes water. "Why did you surrender? You don't have the posture of a coward who would sell out a clan member to _help_  us."

Evune grappled against his hold, gasping, "I didn't--"

"My brother simply happened upon their person without any hints, any leads, and then conveniently decided to bring you to your family. You must think I'm a fool."

"Fene. . . dhis. . . ," the hold around his neck started to constrict. The Archon's eyes piercing still, unblinking, as he waited for Evune to answer. Finally, Evune breathed out, ". . . lasa."

Davan laid a hand on the Archon's arm. He said, lowly, "The elf found the deserter's contact in his clan. He helped us."

"He helped  _you._ Don't try to protect the elf, brother," the Archon replied, his hold still tight around Evune's neck, "He'll have to learn how to speak to his betters."

"I. . . don't. . . have. . .betters." He choked. All he had was his pride and he would be damned if anyone would take it away. They couldn't have everything.

The Archon smirked. He loosened his grip and raised his thumb to press against Evune's upper cheek.

"Brother, don't!"

Evune felt a searing burn press against his cheek and when he wanted to scream the Archon covered his mouth as anger steamed into tears and fell over the Archon's hand. He fell to the ground, even after Archon Vesces removed his hand, feeling the echoes of the burn. Falling to his knees, Evune blinded by rage and pain lashed out, yanking a loose dagger from his pocket. He swung upward only to freeze midair with the Archon's smirk still on his face.

"That mark will curb some of your behavior. I would suggest not trying to fight against it." The Archon added.

Evune grunted when he tried to pull the dagger again and his hand spasmed in pain, dropping the dagger. The Archon leaned towards his brother, whispering something in his ear before snapping his robes away and leaving down the hall. The Divine and Davan shared a look before unshackling Evune and leading him down the hall.

"Knight-Captain—"

As soon as they made the turn around the hall, Davan took the opposite direction, ignoring Evune as he disappeared. He grazed a finger against the burn and flinched. He was afraid to see what the mark had done to him. Never known to be superficial, he had never wanted to be disfigured. Evune erased the rain of guilt pouring in as he shoved down his childish insecurity and focused on the reason he was here. It wasn't about pride. It was about his parents.

These halls, unlike the earlier ones, were decorated with banners falling from the ceiling, carpet on the floor, and even more guards with backs pressed against the walls. He turned to the Divine, who merely lead him through the several twists and turns of the fortress until they went to the lower floors with three cell blocks. There were five torches but the lights were weak and the area was otherwise dark except for the few spots closest to the torches.

The Divine whispered to the guards in the cell block before leaving.

The guard spoke, "You get ten minutes, elf."

Evune struggled against their hold and tripped onto the floor of the holding room. “Wait, tell me what’s going on?” The guards stoically ignored him. Looking down at his bruised wrists, he stood up and stared into each cell. Many of the prisoners weren’t even from his clan but from neighboring clans.

"Is that you? Da'len?"

He swiveled at the sound and ran to his mother's arms through the cell bars. The bars weren't made of metal and he had to assume they were magic because of their slight translucency.

"Where's—?"

"I don't know, my little moonlight. I don't know." His mother gently pulled his braid that had quickly begun to unravel throughout the last two days. She began untwisting and retwisting it from the scalp. "Lean closer to the bar, da'len."

"They killed Carin."

His mother only sighed.

His head fell back against the bars and his mother wrapped her arms around him as he said, "You knew."

"When the wards fell, I knew. For some people, it is a relief and a freedom. For others, this is not the life for them to toil and struggle in complacency; but to take another's life like she did? Abhorrent." She patted his shoulders and continued to braid his hair. "You must be practical, da'len. This may be the last time we ever see each other."

Evune clutched his legs tight to his body. He only sniffed.

"You'll have to be brave. Brave like I'm going to be. Brave like your father was." His mother said.

"I'm not ready." Evune choked on his tears.

His mother hushed him, making a low humming sound,"Shhhhh, did you read the journal?"

"Some of it. The one about Andruil and the halla—the war."

"Then you know where you descend from." His mother leaned close to his ear, low enough so that the guards couldn't hear, and said, "You must be careful, especially around these men. You aren't built like your village brothers. You must use your cleverness first and all else after."

He closed his eyes and listened as his mother's fingers quickly and carefully twisted his hair from his scalp to his nape.

She moved a hand against his cheek and then stilled. "Da'len, what is this mark on your cheek?"

He lifted his hand and it still stung against his finger. "I don't know. The Archon made it."

"Turn to me. Let me see your face." He turned and looked into his mother's weary eyes. The others in the cell were still asleep and none of them did he recognize. "It's in the shape of a moon. Did he tell you anything when he gave you this mark?"

Evune pursed his lips and said nothing. She flicked her hand against his sullen cheeks and smiled.

 

The guard slammed his staff into the stone flooring. "Time is up!"

His mother pulled away from the cell bars. "Listen to me, stay safe. And at all costs, listen to me, da'len, at all costs, survive. Don’t try to save me. You won’t be able to."

His eyes widened as the guard picked him up, much more carefully than he would have ever expected, and his mother raised her voice, "I love you!"

"But I have to try! I have to—" He shouted back as the doors slammed shut.

 

 

                                                                             

 

 

"What are you going to do with me?"

The guard kept silent. He walked ahead, opening doors for him and leading him to the uppermost towers. He expected there to be another group of prison cells but instead there was a long twisting downward staircase. The bottom was so far down that he couldn’t even see it.

The guard pointed down the stairs.

“Welcome to the Hole.”

With a shove, Evune began walking ahead of the guard down the stairs as something strange began to happen. The wide, open gap of the tower on each level would flicker and a large round room would appear as they walked down a certain number of steps. These large round rooms were cells, as Evune had no other words for an enclosed space built for holding a person. Each of them had beds, furniture, some were decorated in intricate ways with browns and blues or white and gold. Yet, all of the domes sat empty. The domes had oddly shaped mechanisms holding them up on both top and bottom ends. Triggers that appeared to connect to the top of the towers.

It felt like an hour before they finally reached the bottom where another dome sat but unlike the others, it was empty of everything, including furniture.

“Stretch out your arms and your legs.”

Evune pulled up his arms and separated his legs as the guard removed every single one of his weapons. The guard was clever enough to put a simple ward in place to prevent him from moving as both his daggers, the one on his waist and a hidden one shoved near his ankle, were pulled out. When the guard pulled out the journal tucked in his shirt, Evune stopped him. “It’s only a journal.”

The guard gave him a perusing look and then kept hold of the journal. He ended the ward but Evune still felt the loose, flimsy feeling in his legs and arms much like when he sat in one place for too long. A cold numbness sat in his bones as he listened to the sharp whistle of what sounded like the sharpening of blades.

The guard tapped against the dome and an opening zipped up. He shoved Evune into the dome and then tossed the journal in right after.

“Elf, if you want a bed put a hand against the wall and it will appear. If not, I’m sure sleeping on the floor isn’t unfamiliar to you.”

Evune gave the guard a confused expression but the guard simply spun around on one foot and made his way back up the stone staircase.

Inside the dome, it was large enough for him to stand and stretch out his hands but ultimately confining in that it made him constantly aware of the fact that he was trapped. He raised a hesitant hand to the concave wall and felt it to be much softer than he expected as if a bubble could have thick skin. He closed his eyes and when he blinked them open, he turned around.

It was  _his_ room filling the dome. His bed, books on the floor, the carpet his father and mother had bought on their marriage day. It didn’t have any of the portraits or knick-knacks he had on his wall since the dome didn’t technically have walls but this was good enough.

He only wondered, “Why?”

Why had they given him such freedom and luxury?

“So, you’re the last one he’s chosen for the Hole?” the woman came out from the shadows. Her pale skin almost ethereal in the night, her blonde hair like spun yarn on her head, and her dress black as night with feathers as her collar. Her shoulders pointed outward like spikes and her chin like a dulled blade. Everything about her was sleek like a viper. “He must not like you very much, but I did tell him he had one more spot to fill.”

For as delicate as the woman appeared, she walked around his dome like a predator, a hunter. He had almost immediately dismissed her in his mind as one of those weak humans but a nervous shake in his fingers told him otherwise.

She was good.

Before he could ask a question, the woman spoke again. “I am Consort Elvia, the Archon’s wife if you will, and I’m the one who organizes the trials for the Hole. So, here are the rules.”

If he showed any of the confusion he felt outside on his face, she ignored it with ease and continued to speak with her boots tapping against the stone flooring as she paced back and forth. “There will be three trials depending on the results and the final decision of the Archon, there may even be four. Your job is to succeed in winning as many of the trials as possible and winning the Archon’s favor. Clearly,” the woman, Elvia, gave a distasteful look around, “you are already the least in his favor since he’s placed you completely in the bottom of the tower. Now, look up.”

Evune looked up and saw spindly wires connected to the top of the dome.

“As you gain favor, whether or not you win a trial, yes, you can gain favor without winning the trials but you  _must_ win the trials, then those strings will pull you up and another will be lowered. You have five other competitors, whom you will meet twice a day during meals, and as there are no rules against. . .fraternization or even working in pairs you may even gain or win in teams. As such, it is possible for all of you to win and it is possible for all of you to lose. Understood?”

“What happens if we lose?”

Elvia’s face brightened and she took several steps forward towards the dome. She stared directly into his eyes as she said, “I’m glad you asked. If you lose all favor, you die. If you fail all the trials, you die. And, if we agree that you aren’t worth the waste of resources, you die.”

“I don’t understand.” He shook his head. He pressed a hand against his temple and closed his eyes. “Why?”

Elvia’s marble face shifted into a pitiable glance. “Oh, you’re one of those, aren’t you?  Well, the winner of the Hole gets to be the Archon’s new bed servant.”

“Bed servant?”

Elvia laughed and the shrill sound of her voice echoed up the tower, clawing at his ears. His insides were telling him to be afraid and he felt his throat dry as his heart sped up.

She said, “You will have the pleasure of attending to the Archon’s every personal and physical need which includes but isn’t limited to bathing, scribing, and sex.”

“No.” Evune slapped a hand against the domed walls. “You—you can’t.”

“Oh, well, actually—

“You can kill me now,” Evune gritted his teeth. “Because I won’t.”

“Oh, someone is a little dramatic. You won't be  _required_ to do so. It is only one of the possibilities.” Elvia turned around and took a peripheral glance at him. “Dear me, did I forget to say that? Me and my memory. You see, if, or rather, when you lose all favor and the trials, your pointy-eared clan members will be placed in something we call the Games and slaughtered on the spot. It’s one of my favorite parts of the Hole actually.”

Seething, he took a step back. He hissed. “You’re a monster. You’re all monsters.”

Elvia tutted. “Ah, now that’s not a way to gain our favor, is it? Well, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. Enjoy the first trial.”

Elvia walked forward into the shadows and he heard a winding gear, then the sharp screech of stone. Her tapping footsteps disappeared.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fenedhis lasa - Suck a wolf's dick
> 
>  
> 
> \--------  
> Pretty much all my Elvish is going to be credited to the rushed lessons I gave myself through Project Elvhen by FenxShiral : http://archiveofourown.org/series/229061


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a slightly smut-ish scene. . . it'll start at the Protag's name in bold and underlined font.

He dreamt that night of mirrors. Mirrors with his villagers’ faces, his parent’s face, blank mirrors, broken mirrors enshrouded by vines surrounding him as his hands dug deep into the dirt. The sky above him swirled white, black, red, blue, yellow, and green before it turned to mud. Electricity tickled his tongue and a heavy breeze sped by as if something had punched the air. His body fell forward as if the very gravity of this new world weighed him down and pulled his head, his shoulders with it. His body hit the floor, yet there was no impact. His fingers began to burn as a blue fire crawled up his arms encompassing it completely. The fire consumed him. It blinded him. He tried crouching up on his knees and pushing his body upwards against the invisible weight.

A woman’s voice, warbled in the air, came from his mouth, “Ma den tel'uth girem'len, ma falon.(You were never a slave, my friend.).”

The voice that replied, more warbled than the woman’s, was indiscernible

“Melan'an, ar lasa mala revas uthenera(Then, I give you your freedom in Uthenera.)”

A hand twisted around his neck and yanked him to the ground, pulling him to the edge of the ground where the grass and bricks ended. The platform of land floated in the air and there was nothing below him.

Nothing but the colors of the sky below him, around him, and behind him was all he saw.

His hands grappled the edge as his body hung off the ledge, his legs flailing in the air. Shackles flew up and wrapped around his legs pulling him as he fought against the pull. The shackles pulled and pulled until Evune couldn’t hold the ledge any longer.

He fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell. . . until. . .

“ _Ane mala vasreëm_ (You are now free).”

Evune opened his eyes to find the darkened tower lit up by the no longer dull domes hovering in the spaces above him. He pressed at his arm, pulling his skin as if the fire in his dreams would suddenly appear.

It did not.

“Another elf? Kaffas. He has a type.”

“Yasu, stop talking.”

“And who made you Queen Consort, Keela?”

A crash of relief fell through him cooler than the evening’s first low tide on. His eyes raised to the ones who stood above him. He could see only two of the five others within their domed rooms. Keela and Yasu’s voice rang clear likely for the fact that they were the ones closest to him.

“Even in Rivain, we know Tevinters don’t have queens, idiot.”

Keela sat in a dome above Yasu. She was dressed in a wrapping of rich red that clung to her muted sunflower skin. Freckles spotted her face to bring her green eyes to attention but the bird standing on her finger did so as well. The bird danced atop her finger and cleaned its feathers as she petted a soft hand against it.

Yasu, unlike Keela, was barely dressed at all. His chest bare and a white wrapping around his waist to his knees, he had crisscrossed scars around his arms and a thick head of black straight hair on his head unlike any he had ever seen of those so pale.

Yasu scoffed. He replied, mockingly, “Even in Rivain, we sell our daughters to kings”

Keela shook her head and the dome she sat in turned milky white. She could no longer be seen through the dome.

“Sore loser.” Yasu finished. He flipped on his side only to finally make note of Evune. He jumped from his bed and walked to the concave wall. “Well, well, it looks like the final chosen has awoken. How do you feel?”

"My home was overrun."

"So, bad, then?"

Evune dropped his head against the misshapen walls of his prison and felt like laughing. How did he get here? "Yes." Those hours of sleep, although he couldn't fathom how long he had actually slept, had done nothing for him. Any and all of his energy were leftovers of the adrenaline stolen from his dreams. . .nightmares might be a better name for them.

"But how are you feeling  _now?_ You're alive!"

Evune's sharp control spiralled out. He finally said, “Fine.” to the other elf's expectant gaze. "Happy. Ecstatic. Joyful."

“Listing different versions of the same doesn't make you--

Evune slapped the prison's walls and glared up at the other elf. “Most of my clansmen are dead." Evune dropped his shoulders and went silent. The words should've been freeing like spring water and morning dew instead it tasted like ash and rotten mead.  "I don't know why I'm alive." And it was a precarious thought that hung in his mind since the sword bled red through Carin's chest. What can he do right?

“I ran away from my clan and surrendered right into Tevinter hands. Thought it couldn't be worse," Yasu added. The other elf cocked his head in a way only a hahren does. The kind of hahren who never smiles from his eyes and stares into the dark for far too long. Evune broke away from his eyes as Yasu's voice continued, ringing, "Fell from the cart led by my clan head. They wanted a fight to kill the mage and I just wanted to live. I guess we all got what we wanted."

"The blood mage?" The same ones who killed their warriors. "One killed them all."

"Why stay?" Evune asked.

Yasu grinned. "Some of us fight for others while some of us fight for ourselves." The other elf picked up a book and smacked it against the bottom of the translucent prison. The cake on the page was swirled with fruit and topped with a fluffy cream he had never seen. Evune's stomach growled. "Never been much of a fighter. Always liked baking in the meantime. Until the next fight, I'm just wasting time."

“Not much of a choice." Those words seemed to strike at Yasu as he winced at those words. Evune gathered his thoughts for a recovery to their conversation. "I had always wanted to travel."

"And?"

"That's it." 

"No places in mind. Orlais or--

"No." Evune interrupted. "Not Orlais. _Never_ Orlais. I just. . .wanted to _see._ "

Yasu hummed in response but didn't ask why. 

"What are they going to do with us?"

Yasu stood up and stretched his hands above his shoulders. He tossed a look at Keela as if hoping that she would answer for him. The dome, now unshadowed, she ignored his pointed look. He sighed and dropped his shoulders. "They stuff us in these domes and leave us alone. They only bother us when it's time to eat."

Evune dropped his head against the dome backing. His eyes pulled up and stared at the mechanisms. He stared at the triggers that were so easily overlooked. They weren't anything he had ever seen before but, in all honesty, the water pipes in his village were the most advanced pieces of machinery he had ever seen. He pointed upward. “What do these triggers do?”

Yasu tossed him a questioning look. “Keep the domes up.”

"I wouldn't mess with those." Keela spoke. Evune's eyes drew up to her and the bird now sitting on her shoulder. "You would do well to just wait it out." Yasu made a loud gargling noise and Keela snapped, "Don't mess with the boy. He hasn't an idea." and the both of them glared as if arguing silently. Evune took this moment to scrutinize the twisting wires and see its similarities between the weavings of cloth. It was impossible to try and break those if they were even half as strong as knitted stockings. “The hanger up there keeps us up.” Evune pointed to the long winding metal bars connected to the top of the domes and then he pointed below the dome. “But, what do these do?”

“The hanger keeps us up, but it's strong enough to do it on its own, so,” Evune pointed to the long winding metal bars connected to the top of the domes and then he pointed below the dome. “Why are these here?” A glowing mechanism, glass instead of metal, stuck out from the stone and attached to the bottom of the hatch bending at his movement. It looked fragile.

Yasu argued, “I don’t know. Keep it from cracking? Look, I was kidding about--”

Evune jumped up and down, hearing the mechanism under him squeak. He stomped his feet, listening to the crunch and squeal of metal. The dome tipped unsteadily before regaining its balance.

\--trying to break out. You won't die waiting here, kid, look--are you listening?" Yasu raised his voice.

"Now you sound like my father."

Yasu sputtered out incoherently as Keela's laugh overshadowed any response he did make.  He struck the dome walls with his shoulder and the dome tipped over swinging on its side but reoriented itself. He hit it again, harder, and it swung on its side snapping free, rolling off the trigger hinge and the dome evaporated into smoke. The bottom hinge leaked a yellow liquid that smelt of grass and burnt hair. His legs tensed and then he shot off, running up the spiraling staircase. He ignored the pang of his legs screaming at him to stop and reached the top, throwing the door open. Swiveling his head from one side to the next, he couldn’t remember which direction to go at the two-way hall. The sounds of guards whispering fell into his right ear and he sped off into the left hall running until he reached another hall. This one was familiar—this was the hall with the statues lining the halls.

He cursed.

“Who—?” The voice of someone behind him propelled him forward and he slid down the right hall, the left, and then down the stairs into an unfamiliar hall with one door at the end. The torches were lit low and he could barely see. The guard’s voices got louder and Evune ran forward, standing on the tips of his toes to see the barred door opening. A hand snatched at his shoulder and yanked him into the nearest room. He fell on the floor and looked up to find a room full of ripped sheets, a metal craft table, and various plier tools. The room was a torture chamber with metallic instruments hanging off the walls. All it lacked was the bodies and the blood.

The man in front of Evune tightened his gloved hands as if preparing to strangle him. His thick metal face mask covered everything except for his hooded brows and darkened eyes that squinted. He imagined the man behind the mask to be aged with eye wrinkles, possibly with grayed hair. Evune reeled back at the sudden puff of hair that could've just as easily been growl or laughter. His back smacked into the wall as the masked man continued staring at him. Evune frantically pulled at the doorknob behind him when the man took a step forward, reaching his hand towards him. The elf could feel the movement in the air even after shutting his eyes tightly closed when he heard a muffled _click_. The man had unhooked a fire lighter hanging behind and above his shoulders instead of killing him. He should've felt relief at the action, but, when the craftsman turned back to his craft table; he felt even more trepidation in the form of sweat falling down his brow.

The masked man was crafting something and seemed to care little about why Evune had appeared out of the blue into his isolated corner. A corner that was hotter than the days where the beach sand burnt his feet.

Evune shifted around the room feeling around the shelves--more than a few were taller than his height--to find shelves holding storage containers full of gems and sparkling stones, twisted bracelets made of metal twine, and glass marbles. He mistakenly knocked one over but shoved it back to its place when the masked man drew his eyes on him. The eyes went back to crafting once the box slid back into its original place. He continued to follow the shelves until reaching necklaces, earrings, and rings of curved white and yellow gold decorated with rubies, jade, and amethyst. His eyes started to water from the brightness of the sparkling gems. It seemed like a dream where the land would be swept from beneath him like a demon's promise. Had he fallen into one of his father's fantasy stories of ancient days gone past? Or was this a warning to heed his greed. His hand reached out towards the nearest jewel allowing temptation to finally draw more than a mild interest.

“There's a chair. It's used for sitting.” The man paused. His voice was muffled by the mask. It rumbled deeply. Evune yanked his hand back from the jewel and stared at the blacksmith as the masked man continued. “I may need an extra hand. A hand that has not cut itself.”

Evune glanced at the craft table full of twisted and untwisted metals. They were sharp, but he had held sharper weapons. Evune scoffed. “I’m a warrior, a hunter, not a smith. I'm not going to cut myself--only others.” He could hear the screech of armored hands against the wall and running greaves run pass in the distance.  He swallowed deeply."And I like my hand where it is if that's what you meant."

“I'm sure your hand is better attached than unattached." The blacksmith said with a lilt in his tone as if he had been privately singing to himself before Evune burst in. The masked man lifted the metal covering up, if only slightly, and now his voice was clear. Almost familiar.

He needed a different approach if the man actually _wanted_ him here. Evune tried to sound annoying--emulating Carin's worst moods--to get the man to let him leave. "Does the Consort and the Archon not have enough jewelry? Shouldn't you be making the soldiers better armor instead?"

The blacksmith paused. "Is there an issue with their armor?"

"Oh," Evune feigned apologetic sincerity, briefly thanking Carin again, "You can't tell? Qunari found a weak point near their. . .armpits and their knees. All they have to do is yank on their arm and--

The blacksmith broke in, "I get it. No need for description. Tell me, how would you know this? Are you an assassin?" 

"No." Evune retorted quickly as he scrambled for what little knowledge he knew of Tevinter and could only think of the horror stories he heard of city elves. "I was a servant among them--in the city."

"Were you? Before you were a warrior," The blacksmith said, and he continued to work. He pulled out a metal hook and pulled alongside the braided metal, pulling ridges along the long metal string.

 _Fenedhis._ "After. Not all servants were born into servitude."

"This is true, but," The blacksmith said, as he hammered the metal until the strings flattened and then slid it into the cauldron of water. He now faced Evune while the metal sizzled. The rectangular form of his mask and clothing gave him the appearance of an otherworldly creature now that he couldn't see his eyes but hear his voice instead. He needed to move closer. "I know there are no elven servants in this fort."

"Do you?" Evune's eyes fell on the door behind the blacksmith and the triggers on the lock. Once reaching it, he had less than a few seconds to open it and leave. He would have to time his escape perfectly. And he was, if anything, getting good at escaping unscathed. "You must be one of those smiths who know everything there is to know about a person by the way they take care of their armor."

The man chuckled. "I am."

"Tell me, then, what's the easiest way to tell the difference between a good smith and a bad one." Evune said. He flitted his eyes over the space between him and the door, timing how many steps it would take. It was like footstep training. And it would be embarrassing if he tripped like he often did in the beginning. Deadly, even.

"To find the weakest point, the point of no return, is the true measure of a smith.” The man said. He pulled out the chain, now a green-tinted sparkle, and raised it into the light. “I know that the Archon decreed such a thing. Yet he cannot convince you of his power. What does this say about the Archon who leads thousands but not a sole elf? Not a whole faction of elves.”

"I don't know about _these_ elves here, but he doesn't fight for my people." The lie sounded too obvious to his ears. He paused as he crept along the wall, slowly getting ever closer towards the door. The man had not turned back around and the door was just within reach. He could feel the cool air push against his fingertips. "I know nothing of the man you call Archon other than war.”

He must remember to run up the stairs and take a  _right,_ not a left like before.

“War?” The man replied airily, “Some would call it balance. Some would say he has little choice.” His hand tightened and the necklace in his hold snapped in half. The sound near broke Evune's concentration as he carefully moved his feet forward making sure not to make a sound. The metal screeched along the table as the masked man slid the necklace's remnants back into the miniature metalworking pot to be melted again. 

"There is _always_ a choice." He lowered his voice as as if his voice was at the same distance as before and not behind the man. His fingernail graced the tip of the knob but his feet stretched too far behind him. He would lose his balance at this rate.  

"Ah, but you would need power for that--options, we call it." He unhooked the chained necklace until it unraveled into one long chain. "Skills. A clever tongue. Or can you fill their bellies with air and ward their fears off with only words of what could be? No, you're not the lying kind, are you?"

Evune's fingers grappled at the door as the metal flashed out the corner of his eyes. The man lifted his mask and he knew, as the bitter acrid smoke and metal smelting hit his nose, that this man was a mage. The door flashed at Evune's hand and it stung his fingertips.  Behind him, out from underneath the mask stood the Archon, his face smudged in dust and grime. “If they find you, Elvia will slaughter your family.”

“ _You_.” Evune hissed, the heat flushing up his face and tinging it. Carin's voice mocked him just as well it did when she lived. It fed into his anger, that flame of discontent. There had to be another way out but he could see nothing else in the room bar a small window above the shelves barely large enough for a flutterbug or a child's palm.

The Archon's mask snapped back to his face as he began clicking his fire lighter starting on another piece of his unfinished work. The sparks lit up white and purple blue as it trailed across the thin metal stretch of silver. It transformed into a deep red like blood and bitten lips. The room fell silent. Evune expected more violence from the man who burned a mark on his face but all the man did was continue to braid the metals together in pattern that couldn't be anything but spectrums of gold and dragon scales. Or, rather, what he imagined dragon scales to look like. Sharply and neatly, he reprimanded himself. There was nothing special in excess.  _Nothing._ He allowed his training to fall over him again.

Out from the corner of his eye, he could see a cracked gem on the floor with jagged edges jagged like teeth. He slid forward and without hesitation yanked the gem up, holding it tight in his palm before wielding it like a knife towards the Archon. He would be no one's bedservant.

"I would lay the weapon down." The Archon was unbothered by the action. He was still enamored with the metal chain in his hand. His eyes, his hands, not even his magic sizzled in the air, the man hadn't moved in the slightest.

In juxtapose, Evune's hand trembled before he lunged forward. A shock of static struck his wrist, barely even enough to hurt. Yet, he still dropped the gem and it slid underneath the work table and out of sight. His last real chance at escape.

Evune lunged for another gem--one slightly less jagged and cracked as well as too far out of his reach--when the Archon twisted around, hooking underneath Evune's chest with one arm and locking the elf's arms together with the other. The necklace clattered to the floor. His breath, smoky and peppermint, tickled his cheeks. The cold stone beneath his knees scratched as the weight and pressure increased.

“In an effort to strengthen our Dwarven alliance, as a young man, I worked with a smith and learned to craft thin, weak metals into something strong. I thought to myself, 'If he teaches me this, perhaps I too will learn to be strong'." The Archon tightened his hold as Evune struggled against his chest. The glove's smooth leather fleetingly burned against his face dropping to his neck. He could've snapped it then. Quick. Painless. "I learned how to be a king through his lessons, so let me share my first class." He whispered the words into Evune's ear and Evune froze waiting for his bones to crack, to bend too far. "There are no monsters chasing you. There is no destiny wrenching its hand into your life merely to hurt you. No one is training you for a test you were born to take. This is only life-simplistic and complex. And yours is nothing special. _Mine_ is nothing special."

He loosened his grip and Evune rolled out from his hold, frantically feeling for the couch behind him as the air sucked into his throat, his lungs. His eyes lost their spots and shot up to the Archon's who raised his hand holding in one finger a chainmail made of beads and small gems.

It was wrong, like nug stew.

It had too many gaps and its design made him think of jewelry instead. The Archon, like a riddler, clicked the metals together layering and layering as the pieces came together.It reminded Evune of the scalding sun overtaken by rain--the moment where both the sky and the shapeless weather clashed to make a kaleidoscope. Perhaps wrong was not the word he wanted to use, but it was a word his clansmen would've used. Wrong like Carin's obsession with Orlesian bath toys. Wrong like eating nug stew as his clansmen stressed over tomorrows with wheedling fingers and nervous voices. Wrong like an elf that couldn't shoot an arrow straight.

It was almost beautiful, but it wasn't allowed to be.

“I heard your mother's plea. My mother, too, sacrificed herself." The Archon spread out the chain like webbing hanging from his hands. He told him there were no tests and then dangled one in front of Evune. "I spent the last several hours molding and carving this--for you."

Evune could tell that care had been carved into every twisting gold braid and tightly melded stone. When his hand stupidly touched it, the Archon clasped around it. Evune's hand was stuck. “I’ll find another way. I’ll win your stupid trials and I'll find my way home  _with_ my parents."

The Archon lowered his voice and Evune could hear a small smile in it, although he had never seen it. "Only if you wish to gain our favor, _my_ favor.” He loosened his grip and stretched the necklace out in front of Evune. He was leaning over his shoulder and whispered into his pointed ear. “Wear it.”

Evune’s heart palpitated, stuttering in his chest. “I am a warrior. I fight for--”

“It’s a simple request. You could leave now. No punishment. But,” The Archon's words lingered like his eyes reflecting the flickering torch fire in his iris. “But you will stay at the bottom of the trials. How far have your clan's teachings pushed you? Or, do you not have options?”

His tunic unraveled with a short tug of his back ribbon. He pulled down his leggings and did not meet the Archon’s gaze hovering over his skin like dry warpaint sticking to the hairs like muggy heat. The Archon wrapped the body necklace around him where gems clicked to other gems and the jewels lining across his shoulders, arms and chest fell short right under his hips in waves creating small geometric shapes like the puzzle it was. His fingers trailed against Evune's hips lightly. “Beautiful, aren't you?”

 Evune challenged his gaze as he struggled internally to shove away the stark nakedness, inside and out, this Tevinter must be pretending to see. But, for once, he could not help but admit it was a stare that met him and did not see through him or beyond him. His stare was present. “Compliments are flowers that wither and die.”

It was present.

The Archon replied, "Ah, your clan's rules do not allow for kindness? I can see why you adore them so." He pulled away and his head raised as if hearing a sound when hands pounded at the door then. Evune fell to the ground in his haste to break away. The window was far too small and the doorknob was now too far away. He was trapped. “Archon Vesces, are you alright?” Evune's heart stuttered in his chest again when the Archon drew out his hand towards him. He couldn't have expected him to take his hand, had he?

The Archon sighed and pulled back to crouch at Evune's level on the ground, “I am _more_ than fine.” 

"One of the domes are broken, sir, but we haven't found him yet."

"And you won't." The Archon countered. "I have it handled."

“Of course, sir. And the Consort is calling for you as well.”

"I will be there."

"Of course."

The footsteps of the men shuffled out from the other side and swiveled around. Gone.

 “I imagine if you tried to leave or were caught outside, Elvia would order your execution. I think she already has, but I can be optimistic for you. I wouldn't allow it either way.”

“She’s your wife.” Evune said with gritted teeth. "If you let me free--

“The Lady Consort is a title that allows her, with the right leverage, the same amount of clout as me. She does not care for me as I do not for her." The Archon said with furrowed brows, thoughtfully. “I can protect you only so much."

"And how will you protect me?" The words tasted just as slimy as they felt being spoken.

"I suggest you sleep here while we discuss. Sleep well.” The Archon swept his hands forward as if bowing, but Evune saw it as a gesture of mocking as it could be nothing else and the Archon left with a loud _click_.  No sooner had the footsteps quieted when Evune rushed to the door and yanked.

It was locked. He was trapped again. A bigger cage but still a cage.

He waved his hand against his heated cheeks and hoped it would cool during the night. The rafters above, where the small window sat, caught his eye again as the wave of heat fell from the air above. He began stacking the storage containers like stairs, struggling with the few that had jewels inside and crawled up it to peek through the window. The smell of iron and stone wafted into his nose like a punch.

On the other side of the window, there was a small group of miners chiseling away when the room began to tremble. The storage containers fell over and flipped on their side as he clutched the small window, hanging from it as his feet slid against the wall to catch a hold. He could hear the miners shouting but only brokenly. ". . .found. . .tell. . . mirror. . .consort." as he slid down the wall and rolled as soon as he hit the ground. The jewelry, or chainmail, cushioned his fall. Evune imagined that it must've had magic embued into it. For another moment, he allowed himself to be thankful for the jewelry's coolness against his skin.  Unhappy but resigned to it, he fell on the couch where the air was cooler. His eyes closed with the thoughts running in his head that he had to leave.

He had to get out.

 

 

 _1_ _st __day of Matrinalis_

_Funalis Begins_

 

One day, several years ago, when his name was still Ashara, he let a nug free out from underneath one of the merchant's tables. He used his ribbon hanging off his clothing to break the weak wooden caging. The ribbon had a new purpose. He took the ribbon and used it as a makeshift collar for the nug. He decided that he would make the nug his friend but only if it came back. Their people had been taught freedom was the only proof of true companionship and he felt with every fiber of his being that this nug would return. 

When he walked to Carin's house that morning, he was forced out of his room with that entirely different sort of ribbon. Complaining under his breath, it took him several minutes to find her and her mother in the kitchen making breakfast. The jars of flour and oil scattered on the countertop. Carin giggling as her mother dotted flour on her nose and dipped the loins of newly cut meat. They told him to wait as they cleaned up and he wasn't sure what pulled him to it. If it was intuition or if it was his ancestor's calling to him for the first and last time, he reached the hallway where his robe's rough ribbon sat hanging off the edge of the table with the skin of an animal wrapped in the trash below it.

He took the ribbon and crept out to the forest, hiding behind the trees until he found the perfect tree--the one closest to his height. The ribbon stayed wrapped around this tree as it grew tall, confined by the ribbon but never contained. There was a part of him that believed the soul of the nug lived in that tree and that it's fate was set in stone, but another, far more rebellious, thought sprouted that if only the nug had _stayed_ _._ It may have been fated to die but had it stayed it wouldn't have mattered. Everyone is fated to die. And the idea of taming a wild creature--a sacreligious thought--was born.

When he woke up again, the door had slammed open followed by the sound of rustling and tossing of things on the floor. Evune blearily rubbed his eyes and found the Archon slamming metal on his craft table before breathing heavily, his hands clenching and unclenching. The necklace clinked against itself when he moved and the Archon twisted around. “I half expected you to be gone.”

“I honor my family.”

The Archon said, while still breathing heavily. “You can rest easy knowing that Elvia believes that I’m punishing you for breaking the dome.” His eyes shifted like birds in the dead of night. Like a creature knowing it was being hunted. Evune didn’t care that the man was suffering—rightfully so in his opinion— so much that it was done in an effort to help him and that his losses may be Elvia's gains. Although, he has never seen her cruelty unlike the Archon's.

“It's not very kingly to whine like a child.”

"This loose tongue of yours, has anyone ever told you how annoying it is?" The Archon returned. His tightened shoulders rolled back into softness and he was no longer on the balls of his feet. "It was an apology."

"Let me go." Evune sat up on the couch, letting the blanket fall to the floor as he said, “My clansmen and I. That is a true apology.”

The Archon seemed not to hear him. "While I’m working, it may get hotter. You may leave at any time.” The warmth in the room no higher than it had been yesterday, Evune attested it to Tevinter sensitivity.

"To where?" Evune answered speculatively. "To the prison? To the dome contraption."

The Archon flipped on his mask and Evune rolled his eyes. He pushed the table and a small chest to the other side of the room to create an empty corner. The best thing he could do was train for this competition he knew little of. He hoped the three forms he knew would be good enough. 

His father had come from another village and trained under a hahren there. The style was brutal and focused on upper body strength. His mother had developed a style that directly opposed it focusing on the lower body. Dedication pooled by his parent's shared experiences were, of course, a waste on a student who could never progress past a child's level. His capabilities limited by his own body--neither shapely like his mother's or muscular like his father's. 

He was, like in all matters, a disappointment.

But, there was one thing he garnered from his training. It was the chance to incorporate ideas into their movements. Adaptability. His parents would reprimand him and tell him to choose one. Indecisiveness. It was the bane of his people-one he tended to agree with, but what use was there in lacking the ability for progression?.

He swung his leg up and switched with his other leg like a windmill--the first form. The second involved swinging his hand like a blade wiggly from left to right. The third an elbow punch. He wasn’t sure for how long he practiced when he heard the Archon’s clinking metals snap and a curse following it. He turned around, the necklace tickling on his skin. “If you burn yourself, they’ll blame the elf.”

The Archon hissed and brushed the remains on the ground. “This isn’t going to work.”

"Then practice harder."

"Is that how you do it?" The Archon teeth unfurled and his hands tensed. "Your people simply work _harder_. Hoping it solves your problems."

"There is nothing else." He knew nothing else.

Metal flung against the wall breaking chains and cracking gems. His metal smithing boots crushed the shambles of gems to powder and his heaving breaths fell alone afterward like a boar at the end of a rampage. “I am spending my days wheedling away to pretend that my duties are merely on pause. As if I'm on vacation rather than that my throne has been stolen out from my grasp.” The Archon closed his eyes and sweat fell down his brow. The man sighed, wearily, and slid down to the cement floor. He tossed the metal helmet, his gloves, and his apron against the wall, while Evune checked his temperature and felt the thrumming pulse against his finger. The Archon was burning up. The temptation to snap the man's neck slipped out as quickly as it had appeared. His death benefitted no one--not today.  “You need to cool down and rest.” He pulled the shirt off the Archon’s shoulders and the man only closed his eyes, with his head back against the stone wall. Evune motioned to pull his pants when the Archon snatched his hands.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“You’re burning up.” The Archon loosened his grip and allowed Evune to continue. Evune knew he had to have some of the worst luck in Seheron but this was ridiculous. “If you die, I’ll be blamed.” He pulled off the mask, and the gloves, first. His hands were red and warm, the blood pulsing underneath his skin.

“No worries." The Archon's breathing turned laborious and Evune untied the string twisting down on his smithy cloak. "It is merely the heat and the mixture."

"Mixture?" Evune replied. He slid the cloak off his shoulders and left his arms and face uncovered. Albeit less muscular than his brother, his arms were solid and his shoulders bent. Good shoulders for a fisherman and a hunter. "Already poisoned in-between today and yesterday? You should ponder your life choices."

"Not poison." The Archon barked a laugh. "You had the leftovers of the mixture from the mechanism on your hands. One of our herbalists had the great idea to use felandaris to bond it." 

"Felandaris? Unlikely. It's entirely harmless and the only people allergic to it is--

"A small population of elves." The Archon added. “It will do you a great surprise to know my mother was part elven.”

Evune scrutinized his face, his eyes, and his rounded ears—even his height. It seemed like dragon shit.  "I've fought elves before. It gives you no additional sympathy." He patted his forehead. "I hope you took a bite of elfroot. I hear it burns."

"Ah, clearly that kindness your clan endeared on you."

"The dead ones at least."

"It was the Qunari who killed them." The Archon went silent. "I am sorry for your loss."

"Stop apologizing. You're a king." Evune retorted. He didn't understand why it made him so angry to hear his apologies. He pursed his lips before speaking, taking a moment to remember his mental exercises. Dealing with this man was like holding a bow, it was no wonder they could not stand one another.  “I can't see your people allowing that. An elven mother.”

The Archon twisted his mouth. “There were no friends on the climb to the throne—not even my brother. But giving up meant that all those insults were true.” The Archon's voice distant as he spoke. “She told me to live a simple life. Dissuaded me from trying. It only made me want it more.”

"My parents told me the same." Evune pressed another hand on the Archon’s forehead. His temperature only slightly cooler than before. "But not once have I ever been tempted."

The Archon hummed. "Not even once? You never wanted anything beyond the image your clan painted."

Evune stifled a breath. The lie sunk heavily in his skin and it felt as if the Archon could see it clearly. So, he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Your brother is in a position to support you now. I can’t imagine him fighting you too much when you’ve already won.”

“Tevinter, for all its advances, is steeped in superstition and tradition." The Archon plucked a chain in Evune's necklace. "Fortune tellers have a relationship with the Fade, unlike other mages. Tradition stated that a new Archon always requests to know how they will die." Evune took the upper half of the pants to dab against his reddened cheeks and chest sweltering with sweat. "I was told," the Archon said, his voice deeper, "that it would be by someone I trust, someone I may even love and would love me back."

“And so you trust no one.” Evune checked his forehead again to find that it was starting to cool down. His sweat was drying. "I'm sure that wasn't the plan."

The Archon's eyes wrinkled, an aged look for someone not even twenty, possibly even ten, years older than him, and he chuckled, "Can you imagine? If it was all a lie.“

"You're delirious."

 “I was told that I would get the urge to dress them in finery and that I would adorn them with words that I have never spoken. She let me leave but not before she drew me the image of a long necklace." In a voice where fingertips grazed the water's surface and ripples emerged, the Archon said, "I believe it was you."

"But--" Evune blinked and then moved his hand up, feeling the Archon’s leg twitch. “You--how delirious are you?” Carin, of course, told him of a merchant's son she met by the beaches. She told him in excruciating detail that if he ever came back she would marry him. She detailed his every expression, his words, and how they melded together in away he could not fathom stating that love was an ocean to overtake one's sense. Carin's mother, in privacy, had warned him that it would be dangerous for him to even experiment as Carin had. He could have no children. Ashara, the nameless warrior, was to be the end of a great legacy.

"You have no love for me. I would not worry." The Archon shifted and when Evune moved his hand up further, snapped his hand over his. “But, do not tempt me."

“That's not an answer.” Their eyes locked and it was an energy that hummed between them like magic but of his own making. "Explain it to me."

The Archon sighed before pulling his hand to his clothed cock, feeling it twitch under both their holds. “You never think before you speak."

 **Evune** raised him a curious look before dragging his other hand up, pressing against the thickening cock underneath. The Archon moved his hand on either side as Evune continued to move his hand up and down feeling his thick twitch. It pressed up against him and his cock began to push through the underclothes and slipped out from the side. He pressed his fingers along the tip to the sack, rubbing, listening to the Archon groan.

“Grip it with your hand.” The Archon said, tightening his hands. Evune carefully gripped his cock, sliding up and down, watching as the Archon breathed heavily again but without the sweat on his brow. The cock’s skin stretching under his palm and grew stiff. Hands gripped his waist and the Archon splayed him over his legs.

Evune dropped his hands to the Archon’s grip. “What are you doing?” The grip tightened and slid him closer on his lap. The Archon said, “Equal pleasure given and shared.” Fingers dipped into the crease of his ass, sliding his heat over the hardened cock. Evune gasped, dropping his head forward. Their hips slid and pressed, wet slicking their thrusts, as fingers slowly pressed in, opening and loosening him up, before pulling out as his cock slid against his stomach. The Archon groaned into his ear, his hips thrusting up before his stomach felt wet with cum and he trembled into his own release.

“How do you feel?” The Archon said, his hands grappling along Evune’s back.

Evune breathed sharply. “Relaxed and exhausted.”

“Yes, it does wonders on stress and frustration.” His fingers rolling up and down his back.

“I feel,” Evune paused, “confused. Is this normal?”

“We do not know each other well. I don’t believe you particularly like me. It’s natural.”

Evune clicked his tongue. “I meant about your wife.”

"I doubt she will care. She may even prefer it."

"Your marriage is disheartening."

"That it is. " The Archon dragged his fingers along his stomach. He hummed. “If I could I would've done things differently.” The Archon started kneading his chest, flicking his nipples, as Evune rolled his hips back. Fingers pressed against his lips and the Archon lowered his voice, “Suck.” Evune pulled in the fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking. The Archon began speaking as he twisted his fingers in his mouth. “Had you the desire, if you let me keep you, you wouldn’t ever have to worry. I could convince the Magisterium to trade you for them.”

As the fingers moved and thrusted into his mouth, Evune could not speak. The Archon continued to speak, “Of course, you’ll say no. You may even win the trials and this would seem like a distant nightmare. But, I wanted to make you aware of your options.” He pulled out his fingers and continued trailing his hands along his waist and leg.

Evune breathed out, “Why? I'm not worth enough to them.”

“You are wildly unpredictable.” The Archon pressed Evune closer to his chest and wrapped a leg over his. “But, your emotions are written all over your face. It’s rather refreshing. They may even think to use you to manipulate and you could pretend to do so. It wouldn't be so far-fetched a plan. Perhaps, somewhere, there is something we both want that we could get together.”

Evune felt his cock thicken against his back.

“Stand up for me.”

Evune tossed a questioning glance before slipping off the couch and standing up. The warmth of the room and the cold water on his skin left him feeling a comfortable in-between temperature.

“Pull off my underclothes.”

Evune huffed before gripping the edges of the clothes and slipping them off. The Archon’s gaze fell over him again but he felt different this time. The fire still burning in his eyes yet he felt no fear.

“You feel it, don’t you? The power. The control.” The Archon placed his hands on Evune’s hips. "They would not be entirely wrong in their assumption but it lies in you."

Evune swallowed but said nothing.

“As it would be smart to use it against me as I will use it against you.”

The idea of this contradicted the very pride he had created within himself. He was not to be owned or traded. There was no relation between him and the other elves, the _weaker_ elves who aimed to either dominate or be dominated. But, he had also never had power over another. The Archon is a king. What did that make him?

 **Evune** slid his hands on either side of the Archon and listened to him exhale sharply as he lowered his lips to his cock.

 

* * *

 

He rubbed at his lips, swollen from use, and felt light. Giggly. He had to get a handle on himself. Yasu and Keela seemed the type to see those kinds of things in a second. Quicker even! 

At the tower entrance, Elvia is standing right in front of him with an entourage of guards. She waved them off as each guard moved from either the end or beginning of the hall, blocking its entrance. Her eyes fell over him like a knived torture device, poking at his skin, looking for weak layers of skin as she begins tugging the top of the tunic the Archon gave him to wear. It wasn't as fine as the necklace but also nowhere near as worn as his old one. She clicked her finger against one of the buttons before straightening the collar. The tips of her nails grazing against his neck. "You slept with him, didn't you?" Elvia covers up her mouth with her fingers. She pulls back and laughs at him. 

Elvia cradles her fingers, twisting them as she speaks, "I hate locks." A mad smile flits over her lips. "Passwords, even barricades, they're all just things created to simply delay the inevitable. But you? I never knew I hated prideless people until now." She snaps around with her heels clacking.

He twisted on his feet and walked into the tower knowing that a small part of him agreed with her.

He returned to a newly repaired dome only to see that all the other domes were opaque. His dome closed shut at his entrance and he stood there--waiting. It wasn't long before a loud vibration came from the highest half of the tower down to the floor like the ground was shaking and he found a wisp of light spin towards them. Throwing his arms up to block it, the light enveloped him, blinding him as a slow ringing struck his ears. He opened his mouth and the dizziness disappeared.

“I hate it when they do that.” A young woman in front of him grumbled. His eyesight cleared from sparkling dots to streaming lines of white giving way to the appearance of the woman, smaller and clearly younger than the others, perhaps even Evune’s age. Even a similar shade of brown to him as well, but her's was rosy and warm. She had plump cheeks and bright eyes but a wiry, curved figure. Her formless robes hid most of her from sight, even the book she had in her hand. She snapped the book shut as she twisted her heavy, thick hair into a bun. 

He was no longer in the dome but a hall. There were two long tables full of three different kinds of meats, several types of round, oblong, and stick-like fruits, and bread. Iron hangings and windows pitched high up on the ceiling where sunlight fell over them. His palms tickled at the rays of light pouring between his fingers. The smell of food called his stomach to growl but even with hunger carving its way through, he didn't want to eat.

Yasu slid in the seating bench beside him and whispered. “Where were you?”

“In solitary confinement, if anyone had to guess.” Gheeran shot out.

Yasu added, raising his voice, “And grumpy Gheeran strikes again. Will she attack us with her eyebrows or will she stuff a loaf of bread in her mouth?”

Gheeran flattened her hand on the table and slyly pulled out a torn piece of warm bread to her mouth before lobbing the piece straight at Yasu’s head.

"Alright,  _children._ " Keela cut in. "Something's about to happen."

 In front of them was a more intricate table with dragon heads and a dragon’s stunted wings for legs. The Archon, Consort Elvia, and the Divine with an even more extravagant feast including meat he had never seen before such as thick soups that could feed several villages, and dressed up plants in bowls layered about. Standing up beside them at this higher platform in full-armor was Davan. He recognized his armor and the blade at his side.

The Archon’s chair screeched and the murmured whispers silenced.

“The Hole is a competition that has gone on for six years now and shows the best of Thedas stretching over oceans into deserts." The Archon’s gaze swept across the room. “This year's, though, will be different than all the rest. This year's will be the _last_ competition." Evune was not a master of expressions but Elvia's narrowed stare on the Archon was telling. This was not her idea. He wondered what the man was planning.  The Archon clapped his hands and the brick walls became transparent. All around them were hundreds of soldiers, green and blue lace-dressed individuals with the upper half of their faces covered and banners of the Imperium displayed over the seats. Their appearances reminded him of his dreams and spirits flitting in the dark. He imagined that at this moment the dinner hall wasn’t a hall at all but a stage for playwrights and they were the centerfolds. They began cheering and screaming as if it were a wager on snapping roosters. This was a bored farmer's pastime.

"The first trial begins today to kick off the celebration of Funalis.”

“You know, they keep journals on each of us.” Yasu muttered under his breath beside him. "It's like a tale to them--our lives. They choose someone to follow us, quietly, and they record everything about us from when we get captured to what we say word by word."

"That sounds crazy." Evune whispered back.

Yasu's shoulders tensed and even Keela seemed disturbed by the crowds outside the hall watching them eat. It was only by accident when Keela turned her head that cold eyes met his. Behind Keela sat one other he had never spoken to and hadn't noticed until now. Her gaze swept over him and away from him without concern or recognition. This was all he could gather from her as lying on her face sat a porcelain mask, like a figurine, adding a far uncomfortable part of the woman that Elvia lacked. She was like a glass doll covered in lace--a spider. She sat alone and unperturbed.  

"You're telling me that you wouldn't want to be immortalized in a book. Liar." Gheeran grumbled at the both of them. "We all die one day but few ever get a book much less from the point of view of the Archon. We'll be _legends._ " Gheeran sighed and it was like stars stuck in her eyes. 

“The war with the Ox-Man beasts has gone on long enough and now as they gain more followers, we must say enough is enough." The crowds stomped their feet and cheered even louder--their voices like thunder shaking the wooden supports.

A grin stretched across the Archon’s face. It was a caricature of the man's natural grin and it disturbed him that it existed at all. It was too clean. Almost too natural to be anything but.  “As you all know, Funalis is a day we give respect and honor to the dead. The Consort and I decided that the first trial will be one of the greatest. Our people should be avenged by rooting out our betrayer. I know that you all have read the pamphlets. For now, this the beginning of the next chapter." The walls flickered back into stone and the Archon stepped away from the table. The ill hush brought back the anxiety he first felt. There was no longer an audience.

“This will be no easy task. And although teaming groups and pairs are allowed, the reward for working alone will be much greater. Furthermore,” the Archon paused. “This traitor needs to be brought back alive. At all and any costs.”

 

Gheeran spoke, her voice willowy and softer than it was earlier, “How will we find him?”

Davan walked forward this time. His armored steps hitting against the stone floors. He cleared his throat and said, “We have found three camps recently with the littered bodies of those who have been drained of blood."

Yasu hissed lowly. "Fucking blood mages."

“The deserter has important information on a valuable object. He is one of the few who can decipher the messages on its location. We _need_ him. Everyone will get a map and the destinations marked will have the spots he has been seen by or has left proof of his occupancy. But, for now, enjoy your meal.” Davan made no motion or recognition of Evune as he sat in an empty seat at the table. Guilt sprouted in his chest. Had Davan been trying to protect him from this? He hadn’t even known Evune. He had no reason to. But—

 _No._ He shook his head. Davan was also the one who killed Carin.

 _“The one who betrayed us?”_ His own bitter voice spoke. He was there the day her magic manifested and there was a lifetime of memories shared. She was always there to listen to his doubts even when she was its source.

She was his best friend.

And this mage convinced her to betray their village. He would find this mage and bring him to justice.

 

 


	5. Chapter Five

 

 The tower where the hall was held itself up with columns leading up and out of a building he had never seen before in all of Seheron. Somehow, they had transported him out from Ath Velanis to the nearest beach in a blink of an eye so that they were now in the lower east coasts of Seheron—Tevinter territory.

His parents had told him of this place where everything buzzed and the humidity made the air thick enough to choke as you breathed it. The thick leaves of the trees slumped down to the floor and it was hard to see far distances with these limp trees standing above them. This place was what his parents called the Land of Manvheraan where a destroyed temple of Dirthamen once stood. It’s said that Fen’harel left a water beast in his stead after destroying the Pantheon to prevent others from taking the mantle. The temples were one of the few doors to a god’s home in the Pantheon.

His people knew not to come here. It was hallowed land.

Davan and a few footmen handed out maps to each of them. The fifth one of the group appeared out from the corners and Evune wondered how he had never noticed him. A Dalish in the middle of Seheron was about as obvious as a Qunari standing between dwarves.

“Who is that?” Evune whispered and pointed to the Dalish.

Yasu looked around and then his brows furrowed. “Never seen him before. He must’ve been in one of the upper domes.”

“Listen up!”

They all turned to Davan as he took off his helmet and handed it to one of the foot soldiers. He pulled out a handful of scrolls and began passing them around.

“These maps will be your lifeline. I have marked the camps my soldiers will meet you at. Every three days, we will have a camp for you all to rest in safety, eat, and carry on information of your progress. For all the days in-between, you’re on your own.”

The footmen soldiers pulled out a chest from behind them and broke open the lock. Within the chest were bottles and carrying sacks. The footmen began handing these out as well.

“These bottles will light up if the water you are drinking is infected or poisoned. The carrying sacks are self-explanatory. Any questions?” Davan finished. He looked around the group as no one said a word. “I suggest that you all work together for at least the first few days to check out the nearest camp for clues.”

“Question,” the Porcelain Mask woman spoke. Her voice raspy. “How are we to find someone that the great Templars are unable to track?”

Davan nodded and sucked in a breath. He couldn't tell if he hated the man or not. Davan seemed to be one of those humans who loved the outside. Far too happy to be around heat and water--yes, he was one of _those_ elves too. “Good question. Chances are that you won’t, but each and every clue will be important to our investigation.”

“This trial is about more than finding the blood mage, isn’t it?” Yasu asked.

“Yes.”

Everyone shifted at that. Evune was glad to know he wasn’t the only one who was lost. As everyone broke apart and began to plan, Keela began marking her map, the Porcelain Mask woman had already disappeared, as did Gheeran, while Yasu confronted the Dalish elf.

It was the best time for him to speak to Davan. “Knight-Captain.”

“Yes.” The man was seemingly distracted by a long missive.

“I’m sorry.”

Davan looked up. “There is nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes, there is.” Evune exhaled. “I should’ve been quiet. You told me there was worse things than death and--

"This is not the _worst_ thing." Davan said but he shifted his feet and said more convincingly, "You'll be fine. You've already made a friend too."

"I'm sure he's a friend." Evune hesitated. “But, I hope that we are, slightly, because I need your help.”

“Of course you do.” Davan tilted his head. “I find it convenient that my brother feels properly admonished and requested that I help you. He must know how Elvia hates you.”

“I may not have been the only one reacting in haste." Evune felt a trill of fear. How would others treat him if they knew? He had an idea. "Elvia's hatred of me is confusing. We've never met, but,” Evune cleared his throat at Davan’s scrutinizing stare. “what I need to know is if my father is safe. I need regular updates on my mother.”

“You ask a lot of me.”

"I can hunt and make poultices. If there is something I can help you with--

"No, I'll help you but if I ever need your help, I expect a prompt response." Davan quirked a brow and Evune felt mocked again. 

"Of course."

Davan sniffed. “If we speak again, I will let you know.” Davan began walking away before taking one turned back step. “Vitae benefaria.”

The smell of bristlewood and dew flew in the air when a soft wind fell through. To his right, where Keela once stood, there were only trees. A hand tapped his shoulder and Evune reeled back. Yasu raised a hand in surrender. “Look, guess who I’ve added to our team.” Beside Yasu stood the other elf with green Vallaslin covering his skin from head to toe. The other elf was tanned and had the thin, straight hair of the Dalish far south. Evune wondered how he came to be so far north.

“Sylaise, right?” Evune asked.

The other elf only nodded.

Yasu added, “Yeah, I don’t think he’s much of a talker. His name’s Arnarel but I couldn’t get much else out of him.”

“I’m sure you’ll talk enough for the both of us.”

Evune pulled out the map. They hadn’t added Kellis’ camp to the locations but, since it didn’t match up with the other spots, he wasn’t too surprised. The blood mage must have only gone there to kill their hunters. It was a sickening thought. The mage must've been desperate. If only he had been a better marksmen. . . “Any ideas to where we should go first?”

“The closest place is a camp on top of a waterfall. And that sounds like a bad idea. I hope you two know how to swim."

“You can't swim." Evune said incredulously. "

"Nope." 

"Arnarel, tell me you--

"Usually." was all the other elf said and Evune breathed out, meditating breaths. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  His mother told him never to fear magic. Magic ran in their veins, spun in their hearts like a fishery net, whether they commanded it or not. His father told him to be wary of magic—the draw of it could leave you in awe or in pain but it could never be ignored. But, in all his short life, he never truly knew magic. He saw it heal, poison, burn, and protect but he had never seen it used purely without any other reason than for desire. He should’ve known that Tevinter was the place magic, carrying such great purpose, would be used . . . for bathing in bubbles.

            This was the scene they walked into with bubbles refracting the light of the sun in its pink-tinted transparency and bouncing in the air. The three of them took soft steps towards the camp but Gheeran, sitting in a bathing spring as steam flew in the air, sat relaxed in poise. The closer they walked to the camp a wave of cool air flushed over them. She wore a cloth mask over her eyes and once they reached the spring they could see a ward circling the spring. A large pile of rocks blocked off the spring into the waterfall but from their distance they could see the waterfall was a long ways down. Any false step and that was the end.

“Gheeran,” Yasu said, with a grin on his face, “You’re a genius, you know that?”

Arnarel snorted.

Without uncovering her eyes, Gheeran replied, “Yasu, not a pleasure to see you again. Couldn’t you and your friends have gone to some other camp.”

“This is the nearest.” Evune started. At a glance, the camp was small and empty. Two huts stood in the camp as perfect mirrors of the other. No damage on their roofs or weathering down of their wood. The huts still smelled of mint and fresh bark. In the center of the small camp was an old fire pit but even the pit was clear of cinders. It was only a deep hole with wood and a few stones. There was no sign that anyone else had ever been here.  He crossed his arms. “Found anything?”

“You’re assuming I would tell you if I did.”

When Gheeran shifted to the left, he could see dark spots, purpled discoloration on her arm. He pointed it out.  “I’m assuming those bruises on your right shoulder, arm, and wrist aren’t only for appearances.”

Gheeran hmphed. “I’ve already checked everywhere. There’s nothing here. Not even a drop of blood. Rather boring actually.”

She made no effort to hide the fact that she wasn’t going to answer that question.

“Do you need salve?”

Gheeran lifted the cloth and peeked under it. “I’ve been practicing magic since I was three.”

Evune blinked. “I’m only—

“I was trained, went through the Harrowing, and was nominated for one of the youngest junior enchanters-in-training in history.” Gheeran continued to say as she stepped out of the bath and towel whipped up from its folded spot to wrap around her body, covering it up.

Evune closed his mouth.

“But, I was never very good at healing.” Gheeran strode past him and waved her hand over a tree where her bag, hanging from a branch, appeared. She unhooked it, pulled out a twisted ball of herbs and a small bottle of liquid, and tossed it to Evune. “Make the salve.”

Evune took the herbs and began organizing them. And when Gheeran moved into one of the huts, Yasu and Arnarel snuck up behind him.

“You are not her servant.” Arnarel said. His voice had an icy tone as if Evune was somehow making  _him_ look bad.

Yasu nodded firmly. He crossed his arms and leaned forward to speak lowly. “She’s used to being catered to.”

“I don’t think so.”

Yasu added. “She’s a Tevinter mage in training.”

“I don’t  _believe_ that.”

“You don’t know that.”

Evune tossed him a look and continued separating herbs.   _Elfroot . . .Spindleweed. . . Distillation Agent. . ._

“Gheeran,” Evune started to say.

She pushed open the window of the hut as she rubbed the towel through her hair. “What?”

“Are these  _your_  healing herbs?”

“I got them from a friend of mine.”

“Your friend,” Evune hesitated. He pulled out a root with red bulbs attached. “They gave you Deathroot by accident.”

Gheeran slammed the hut window shutters closed.

“Deathroot is like, what, an herbal Gaatlok?” Yasu asked. He picked up the root and sniffed it.

“No.”

Gheeran appeared beside them and huffed. She snatched the root out from Yasu’s hand. Her hands clenched the roots tightly before throwing it on the ground and stomping over it repeatedly until sweat dripped from her forehead. She unfurled her teeth and hissed. “Andraste’s tits. It cost me triple to buy these stupid things than the other.”

Yasu shared a look with Arnarel but the cursing went right over Evune’s head. Yasu rubbed his nose. “You’re not Tevinter. Are you?”

“Oh, you’ve finally learned cleverness.” Gheeran whipped out her hand, destroying the wards completely. The humid fell over them like wind.

But when Gheeran made the motion to leave, Evune’s hand blocked her from leaving as he pulled out a half-ripped leaf with a yellow-green paste stuffed inside it. He dropped it in her hand. “Your salve. Put it on every few hours until the next sunset. I carry elfroot in my shoulder packs."”

Gheeran lifted her free hand and covered her half-smile. “A Fog Warrior that knows Herbalism. Good to know.” She shook her head. “I found some strange markings in the huts. They’re not anything I’ve ever seen before. Maybe you three can decipher it.” With those parting words, Gheeran pulled up her bag and disappeared through the thick foliage of the forest. The splashing of the waterfall and the murmuring water hitting rocks from the hot spring to the fall seemed to gain in volume at the silence.

 

The huts were barely large enough to fit a desk, the bed, and a table. The bed had no padding or anything else really other than the frame.  The table had dried drippings of red and crinkled papers with smeared ink atop it. But the desk was a glitterdust mine in and of itself. There was half-way melted candles, an engraved dagger with blood dried on its edges, and a painting of a human noble above it. In the corner of the room, though, was a perfectly ordinary bow and two arrows. If he only looked at the room by the corner with the bow in it, the hut seemed perfectly normal.

“How did you know? I dealt with her for  _days_ and I never saw anything else, but--

Evune sighed and crossed his arms. "I could smell the elfroot in the springs. She was trying to heal old bruises. Wherever she was at before, if I had to guess, didn't take  
kindly to her."

"It could've been anything." Arnarel said. 

"Where you see arrogance, I see someone hiding themselves to keep safe. I'm doing it. You're doing it. Yasu is doing it. I understand." Evune said as he checked the table for dust and the smell of any herbs or toxins. The table was scrubbed clean. He replied to the fast-talking elf, “Arguing with her when those simple bruises and cuts can quickly turn into infection would be me trying to prove a point when I have nothing to prove. And, isn't it better for all of us if she’s well?”

Yasu reared back like an animal kicked. Evune's words had set him off. “Now you sound like those Qunari. Did your clan teach you anything else? They’re all about self-righteous honor too until you fail. I can't see Fog Warriors being any different.”

Evune bit back a retort. He wanted to stand up for his clan but his forced-upon "destiny" left no room for failure. Still, Yasu was called a Qunari earlier but Evune didn’t prod him about it. “Whether you're right or wrong, most of my clan is dead. I'll respect their words, if you don't mind.”

Yasu huffed. He tilted one of the unlit candles on its side until it fell over and rolled onto the floor with a smack. “Yeah, my friends too. Probably this weirdo’s too.” He tossed a pointed thumb at Arnarel who had already begun scrutinizing the dagger and the markings below the desk. "Elves get the short end of the stick every time."

"What about the others?" Evune changed the subject and was glad to see Yasu take a deep breath, calming down.

Yasu tossed his head back and said carefully, "Keela's family was near the bottom of the barrel. She asked to be sent in for the money they offered her family. Gheeran is from southern Thedas but not Orlesian. She doesn't have the accent. And Marcella? She's Tevinter born and raised. Don't know anything else."

"Never seen her face?" Evune crouched to the wooden flooring wiping the dust off the markings below the desk. They were unlike the wards of Gheeran. The lines were choppy, dotted sparkles of a broken silver circle. Inside of this circle sat curved drawings that appeared more like knives and sharp edges stabbing into more circles. "What if she's the one writing the pamphlets?"

“If you saw the way the guards talked about her, you wouldn't say that," Yasu said. His voice turned distant, thoughtful. “There’s no way all of us can win. It wouldn't be a game if everyone could win.”

"You noticed that too?" Evune crossed his arms and tapped a nervous finger against it. “They must want something from us. Not each of us. All of us.”

“Or, maybe they don't know _which_ of us.”

Evune agreed. It seemed like they wanted something more than entertainment from them. Everything else was an added bonus.

Arnarel knocked his knuckles against the flooring.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

_Thunk._

Arnarel scratched against the hollow sounding wood and snapped the piece off. Evune picked up one of the larger pieces and lined it up to the silvery marked etchings. He recognized the markings. “This looks like elvish but not anything I’ve ever seen. It could be older or Dalish.”

Arnarel gave him a side-look. “The Dalish are not foreign to Elvhen.”

“That’s not what I—

Arnarel had already begun ignoring him again and focus on digging whatever laid beneath the loose floorboard.

Yasu scooted in beside them and whispered, “I think I’m looking more and more likable.”

“I only meant—

Arnarel cut in. “There’s a journal in here.” Arnarel dug his hand dip into the ground underneath the floorboard and pulled out a sewn stack of papers. But as he pulled out the stack of papers a phylactery fell out and Arnarel lunged to catch it. It slipped through his fingers, falling between the cracks and the flask filled with a thick red liquid shattered to the floor.

“We need to leave.” Arnarel rushed out while pulling out the stack of papers under his arms and left the hut.

 They reached the door when the ground beneath them shuddered. The trees swayed back and forth. The other hut had started to fall apart and collapse within itself when a loud splash sounded behind them.

Water rained in heavy pellets. In front of them was a scaly water beast stretching up to the height of the trees. Its teeth razor sharp and a forked tongue flickered out, tasting the air. The beast had no arms and contorted in the air like a snake fish. Evune ran for the nearest tree and ducked with the other two sliding right behind him. The beast shrieked as it threw its body down on the hut and crushed it to pieces.

Yasu shouted. “There goes the proof!”

“We have the journal. All we have to do is leave!” Evune shouted back as the beast continued to throw its body and splash pounds of water pouring down them as if it were a thunderstorm. The beast stretched itself outwards and encircled the small area. Dust and leaves swept around them like a tornado with the water spinning in the center like a hurricane.

“Vashedan, we need a plan. Now.”

Evune peeked around the tree searching for anything helpful when his eyes caught it.  _The bow._ The bow from the hut had somehow survived the crushing weight of the beast and had been knocked next to the former hotspring that was now full of crushed rocks. “I’m going to distract it.”

Yasu argued, “Kid, that’s a stupid—

Evune jumped from behind the tree and dived towards the bow and the stray arrow stuck to it, snatching it up, rolling on his side, and then slid beside the nearest tree. The water beast roared once again, smacking its whole body in the water. Water rushed over him blinding him as his ears filled with water. He choked on the water, spitting it out as he clutched the bow tighter. His hearing warbled in and out. He couldn’t even stand straight, but he stretched the string of the bow and slowed his breathing. The bow was larger than the one he owned and the arrow had a crack in its side.

He had one chance to do it right.

 _This is your chance. Prove them wrong. You are the legacy. The Elvhen live through you._ The words whispered in his ear. A bittersweet taste of justice and vindication nipped at his heart. But instead of lightening it, it felt burdened. His arrogance and his pride is what brought him here. He dropped the hold on the bow and arrow altogether. Locking the opening of the bow around his shoulders, Evune slammed the arrow into the tree and broke it in half.  He peered around the tree again and found the pile of Deathroot, thankfully, untouched. He skipped from tree to tree to tree until he reached the nearest one and snatched it up. He ripped the leaves to shreds and with the water already damping it, made a rough thick paste. He smeared it on the edge of the arrowhead and turned back to the beast. He had climbed up mountains, hills, and trees all his life. Crawling up a water beast with scales like cliff ridges couldn't be too different.

_Easier than dying in a puddle of blood._

He ignored the last vestiges of doubt and sped to the body of the beast. He kept the Deathroot paste in one hand and as he clawed up the beast, he left handprints of the poison on its skin. The beast lurched left and right to shake Evune off but his hold was tight against the rough body. His heart pounded in his chest and he started to feel dizzy with adrenaline and fear as it licked up his insides like a rough tongue.

When he reached the space between the neck and the head, he yanked up the arrow head and its wooden stub stabbing it deep between its bone. The beast swung side to side, screeching as its body wildly splashed. Evune’s hold was no match against the wet scaly skin of the beast and the strength of its movement. The stub of wood cut across Evune’s stomach as he was tossed high in the air and over the waterfall.

 

                                                                         

* * *

 

 

 

The drop over the waterfall was never-ending. He wondered when he would hit ground and die, asking for it to be closer to end it quick. He opened his eyes, the wind and water pressing against his eyes and the force of the air strangling his throat. He curved his hands and dived deep into the water, crashing through the surface. His body plummeted deeper and deeper into the water. The air bubbles filled up around him as he closed his mouth. He swam upward and splashed out the water, coughing and spitting out the bit that had fallen in. He flopped over on the wet grass and looked up at the sky.

It wasn’t even sunset yet.

A watery laugh squeezed itself out as he flopped over onto land. The cut on his stomach burned and he yanked down the nearest leaf turning it into a makeshift bandage. The distance from the waterfall to the drop would take half a day’s walk to go around and he needed to find his way back as soon as possible. Waiting for Arnarel and Yasu to appear didn’t sit well with him and he wasn’t sure it was the fastest way to find them either.

 With clothing soaked and picking branches out of his hair, he twisted a finger through his braid. He should’ve learned how to braid on his own.

“You.” Grunted above him and an arrow whizzed by barely an inch shy from his shoulder. Albeit late, Evune slid behind the nearest tree peering upward. He caught a flash of white.

It was one of his people. Why?

Rope twisted around the tree and around his neck choking him as a voice whispered behind him, “We will get our answers.” Before everything turned black.

When awoke, he was tied to a post and surrounded by people he didn’t recognize. This wasn’t a clan he had ever met.

The five people surrounding him were painted in white but in a decorative style unlike his clan. Lines and squiggles with even some in the shape of animals covered parts of their body instead of it wholly. The oldest of the five, a balding tall elf, walked forward. Branches cracked under his feet and small pebbles knocked down the small decline from they stood to where he stood.

“Fen'harel ma ghilana for leading you here.” He said with his arms twisted behind his back making rounds around the post in and out of Evune’s sight.

 “It wasn’t bad luck,” Evune exhaled sharply, his throat still sore from the rope. “I’m of the Nazari clan. My father—

One of the other elves rushed forward and spit on the ground in front of him. “Lies! That clan is no more and overtaken by the mages.”

“The Tevinters captured me.”

The four other elves shared looks of irritation as if Evune had said the wrong thing. The elder spoke up, “You don’t appear very captured to me. And we know those mages have silverite tongues.” his round stopping to face Evune.

Evune yanked against the rope and glared. “They kidnapped my clanmates to find a blood mage. Now, they have asked me to find him. I’m not the enemy!”

“That mage killed two of our fishermen.” One of the elves hissed. “Those Tevinters will have their eyes in their hands!”

They knew where the blood mage was? “Do you—

“We still do not trust you, da’len. I would not ask anything of strangers.” The elder said and with a nod at the other four elves, he disappeared beyond the trees where he could see flickers of lanterns. The village had to be up there.

“I’ll watch for the night.” He heard one of the elves whisper. The other two were related, at least it seemed that way, with how they shared the same auburn hair and light-colored eyes. They may have even been twins by the way they seemed to reflect the other in every way except for height. One of them, the taller one, had been the one who spit in front of him while the other was still pacing angrily from shouting in Evune’s face.

“Fine.”

“On your head.”

And the other two departed.

“You have some bad timing.” The other elf said. His eyes were dark and his hair shorn clean along his scalp. He was far muscular than the others and that should have made him wary, but his loose shoulders and calm tone of voice argued that. “We found their bodies right before we found you covered in blood.”

“It was my own blood.” Evune gritted his teeth. They had to have some system of justice. He could prove himself if they gave him the chance.

“Yeah,” the other elf rubbed his head, “that’s what I think. But one of the fisherman was those kids’ father and they’re out for blood. I don’t think they care whose.”

“But your elder.”

The other elf sighed. “We have our own issues. Like the elder said, Fen’harel must have it out for you.”

 Evune dropped his head against the post. He knew that land was cursed.

 

* * *

 

 

As the sun started to fall and the humidity thinned, Evune was exhausted and hungry. His still wet clothing stuck to his skin while the wound on his stomach itched. And here he thought Tevinters and Qunari would be the death of him, not his own people.

“Ashara?”

His lidded eyes flew open. The human in front of him was no one he recognized. The man held a hand against his chest. “The name is Winston. Carin may have—

“You’re the tradesmen’s son.”

Winston’s floppy blonde hair jumped up as he nodded excitedly. “The Waonui told me they found a Fog Warrior wandering around with white hair. I knew it had to be you and then they said you were from the Nazari—there was no doubt in my mind.”

Evune let him ramble longer out of politeness since he was his only passage to freedom. “Can you untie me?”

“Oh,” Winston scrambled forward, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve done that first.”

The rope snapped off the tree and Evune had forgotten, briefly, how it felt to breath so deeply. He searched around the post and the trees but he didn’t see the other elf he had spoken to earlier. Winston flew in front of him and he almost lost his balance.

“Sorry, again.” Winston said, he waved his hand up the hill, his long sleeves flapping in the wind, “they told me to bring you back to the village if you were who I said you were so—

“Lead away.”

Winston led him to a village that was more a beach than anything else. Sand covered far into the village and tall trees with the shape of Deathroot but the smell of fruit swung in the breeze. It was as if the forest he was just in was an entirely different part of the world. He wondered if Ath Velanis was truly that far from The Land of Manvheraan.  Perhaps Seheron was more than he had ever known.

“I should warn you.” Winston said under his breath as a group, larger than before with the elder at its head, stood ahead of them. “They really don’t like mages. Blood mages, the most, but they don’t have healers or alchemists. I would keep that talk to a minimum.”

Evune nodded. He knew that some clans hated and feared mages with the belief that they were either Tevinters in disguise or would be more tempted into their cause. It wasn’t even a thought he could argue. Not anymore.

The elder broke away from the group and tilted his head, pointing towards a large hut. The huts here were made of dried trees and leaves but in a style familiar to him. He imagined that it was much harder to grow your houses if you had to do it from sand and without magic. Nevertheless, the hut was larger than Inan’s twice over. The hut’s first room held five pillows. One against the furthest wall and four a few feet in front of it. Paintings of villagers and dried herbs lined the wall with two doorways on either side of the room blocked by thick green leaves.

“Sit.” The elder said. He crossed his legs and sat on top the furthest pillow. “I’m told you are who you say you are. We will look over your wound, give you a few items, and send you off on your way.”

Evune dropped to the pillow on bended knees, “I’m honored, hahren, but to save my clanmates I must find the blood mage. If you could—

“Our clan will _not_ get involved.” The elder seethed. “We have offered out our kindness and you will take it then leave. I will send the healer in, now, do not ask again.”

The elder stood up and disappeared behind the left doorway with a snap.

“He’s been like that since the main clans one by one started getting attacked.” Winston whispered. Evune clenched his hands in his lap. He had not known others had been attacked. “He thinks they’re next.”

“Who else?”

“There was to be a summit several days ago at your village, yeah?” Winston continued, “Well, Cahlo and Oni cancelled in the last minute. Then, Feh-Fur-Fen—

“Fenorain.” If those three were attacked, why didn’t his father say something? Why didn’t Inan? “How close were they attacked?”

“No one knows. Cahlo was attacked a while back and Fenorain sometime in-between. Oni was attacked about the time Nazari was.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Evune said, knowing that Cahlo and Fenorain were endpoints where Nazari and Oni were in the middle. Why would the mage attack two cities and then go back to where they started to attack more? “Any survivors?”

Winston scratched his chin. “Not many.” He dropped his shoulders. “I right thought everyone in Nazari was dead.”

“Carin didn’t make it.” Evune left it at that. No need to add more onto it.

Winston sighed heavily. “I loved her, you know, but, my family’s old and from Denerim. They never would’ve let me marry her.”

He hadn’t heard much of this Denerim except that there were dragons and Grey Wardens. It was no wonder Carin was as desperate as she was but enough to betray them . . .it was starting to appear far more complicated. The doorway snapped open and a young woman came out carrying a small pot, “You are Nazari.”

Evune blinked. He didn’t recognize her accent. “Yes.” He opened his mouth to give his name and then snapped it shut. Winston knew him by his old name and if he gave a different one these suspicious people will start to question the both of them.

It used to be so simple when he hadn’t a name.

She pulled out the leaves that looked like Deathroot and dropped them in the now sizzling liquid pot. “You must drink it. All of it.”

Evune gave a look at Winston. “The Waonui recently merged with another clan. Better stability. She’s the new wife.”

“But I thought—

“She passed away.”

Evune blew on the pot and took a hesitant sip. He could smell every ingredient as if laid out on a desk. He continued to drink watching the woman’s smiling face out the corner of the pot, he thought this was another strange occurrence. A wife who didn’t speak elvish or standard _and_ human? It’s not that it was unheard of but—well, it was _practically_ unheard of for an elder to do so. And why not pass on the title to someone younger than remarry?

The woman spoke to Winston in a language he couldn’t quite translate but it was familiar. It was likely another dialect. His mother had taught him a few but he had never learned past how to read them. Winston’s grinned and turned to Evune.

“She said it’s used as a fertility drug too.” He slapped a hand on Evune’s shoulders and some of it spilled out his mouth. “The ladies will be all over you.”

“You know—

Winston waved him off. “Like it matters. The heart wants what the heart wants. I heard a bard in the bannorn singing that.”

Evune swallowed the rest of the potion knowing that he needed to find the one who guarded him last night. Someone was orchestrating a plot against his people’s clans and no one seemed to notice.

 

* * *

 

Winston pulled a hat on his head and looked down the hill. “I’m going to get my cart ready. Will you be ready by sunset?”

“No choice, right?”

Winston’s mouth twitched. “That it is. See you then.” The man slid down the hill twisting through the trees until his hair could no longer be seen through the foliage.

The sun was still some ways before sunset but the sun was already hovering over the horizon and the sky was darkening over the expanse of ocean. He turned towards the upper end of the beach and caught sight of the guard from last night. Jogging over, he slowed to a walk when he found him talking to another elf, an older woman.

“You know your grandfather doesn’t mean it.” The older woman frowned and washed her clay covered hands in the sea. “The clan still looks up to you. You’re what’s best for it and soon he’ll put your name forward.”

“No, he won’t and even if he did _they_ won’t let him.”

“Rajhlin, things will change for the better. Everyone sees it and soon you will too.” The woman said and she turned around throwing her hands against her chest at the appearance of Evune. “Oh, you must be Dhaival’s child?”

“The white hair give it away?” Evune said lightly.

The woman smiled. “I have a few things to get ready still, but I’ll be the one giving you your travelling items. When Winston returns, look for me.”

She was probably the reason the elder was being kind at all. “Thank you.” Evune bowed forward.

She sighed and shook the water from her hands. “Well, I’ll leave you be while I prepare.”

Rajhlin waited until the woman disappeared before he started to speak. He yanked a fishnet out of the water wrestling with the large catch as he tugged it fully onto the beach. “My mother knew your father when he was from his other clan. We might be distantly related by the way she speaks of it.”

Evune knew nothing of his parent’s families. But, if he wanted to know about them he would ask them. “I’ll ask them one day.”

Rajhlin gave him a look and Evune felt pressed to be more aggressive than he planned on being. “If you say so.” He says.

“Why did the elder remarry?”

Rajhlin hauled the fish up the beach while Evune followed him. “Celebrations always bring happiness.”

“Ignoring the blood mage won’t make them go away.”

“You’re talking to the wrong elf.” Rajhlin took him up the banks of the beach where a hut made of clay and stone sat. Shelves of supplies were plastered against its walls inside and outside. Rajhlin pulled a large bowl and a small knife before sitting down, cleaning out the fish. “My grandfather is not in charge anymore. None of us are.”

“Who’s behind this?”

Rajhlin laughed and flicked the organs out, one by one. He made it seem easy as if he had done it a million times. “Wish I knew.”

“You’re the elder’s grandson,” Evune said and let the unspoken question sit in the air.

The pile of fish organs rolled on another and another until the whole bowl was filled. He dragged out another one. “I’m not a warrior because that is the old ways. The new ways dictate that there is an order. And, apparently, I’m a good fisher.”

The _order._ No, it couldn’t be.

Rajhlin raised his eyes to meet his and then laughed. “That obvious?”

“I should go retrieve my packs.”

“Yeah,” Rajhlin said softly, “you should.”

He nearly tripped on his way off the beaches when he finally started to see it. There were no children. No flowers in the windows of the huts that were perfectly and completely identical from one another. Everyone worked, not happily or angrily, but quietly as women carried baskets over their shoulders and men carried weapons on their sides without conversation.

His head twisted around searching for something, anything, out of place to prove to him that he was wrong.

“Hey!”

He bumped into someone with his head turned and found the twins from earlier glaring at him as if he were Fen’harel himself and set the Pantheon ablaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you still here?” the taller brother sneered and with each word he stabbed a thumb against his shoulder until knocking him back completely. “We should’ve killed you when we found you.”

“I bet you killed our father.”

“Enough!” the elder thundered stomping out from his hut, the twins silenced and looked down. Evune avoided his gaze and stared at the ground too. He had to leave. He had to run.

The Qunari were here.

“That tradesmen is here.” The elder said. “My daughter will meet you by the trees. I will warn you for the last time. Do not _ever_ return.” And for the first time, he heard the desperation in the old man’s voice. “You understand, da’len?”

Evune quickly nodded and held back the water he felt pooling behind his eyelids. It was his mother all over again but instead of one person this was his sister clans—all of them. This wasn’t something he could fight. This wasn’t archery or hunting. There was nothing to master. He swiveled around and rushed towards the forest clamoring for the trees and felt relief when the darkness of the leaves overhead meant he was no longer in the village.

He took a brief look behind and could see the elder still watching him. He jumped down from the rocks and kept going down but he wasn’t going to look for Winston. His instincts told him that Winston was the missing link. _He_ was the reason everything in his village went to shit. It didn’t mean he was the blood mage—although why kill the Waonui fisherman if he was—but he was a part of this and for some reason he wanted Evune. The Qunari wanted _him._

He imagined it was to hold a trophy over the rest of the Seheron clans now that the River was gone. Nazari, Cahlo, Oni, Fenorain, and Waonui each represented a part of the river: Nazari was the ditch; Cahlo, the fisherman; Oni, the boat; Fenorain, the fish; and Waonui, the water. He hoped the Shelter, the Sky, and the Mountains were fine. It was rare when a whole group of clans fell. It hadn’t happened in centuries.

He swallowed the large ball of air stuck in his throat and sped forward. A hand reached around and yanked at his collar, he flipped to the ground smacking his side into a tree’s root.

“We knew the elder wouldn’t be able to keep his promise.” Winston sighed. Winston crouched over him as he gasped on the ground. His stomach still tender stung and stretched through to his side until it was numb.

 _Not good._ Evune grappled at the flooring but the sediment and roots made for an awful hold. Winston snatched his arm and dragged him through the forest. He knew it would’ve been worse to do dead weight with his stomach spasms. The cart had barrels, blankets, a horse at its head, and Qunari soldiers around it. There was no way he was getting out now. Winston gestured towards it. “Get inside.” The Qunari soldiers walked forward as if to crowd him and he slid into the back of the cart. He huddled next to the barrels and heard the whip of the driver. The Qunari soldiers stayed back, for what reason he didn’t know but he was thankful for small mercies.

They travelled for a time and it had become dark with only a small lantern hanging on the side of the cart as they traversed the bumpy route. Winston clicked tapped against the lantern as it flickered in and out.

“Isn’t it a little dark for this route?” Winston said to the driver. “You must’ve taken a wrong turn.”

“No.” the driver said, “You gave the wrong directions.”

“Why you—!” Winston shouted when the wheel of the cart cracked and it swiveled left and right until it rolled to a stop. “Fucking shit.” He jumped out the front and checked the wheels. “Look what you’ve done. It’s broken!”

The driver bowed his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’d better—

“He’d better, what?”

Evune snapped his head up at that voice. He kicked his leg out the backing of the cart and found Winston corralled against the side of the cart by Templars. . .and Davan.

“Tie him up for questioning later.” Davan ordered his men as the armored Templars yanked Winston forward. He walked up to the driver with a bag of metals—currency, probably. “Thank you for your service.”

“You’re welcome, sir. That man’s a menace. Do what you will.” The driver said. Another Templar, as if by magic—as it well might’ve been—repaired his wheels and nodded him forward. With a snap of his leash, the horse sped on.

Evune wobbled forward and fell to his knees. Unconscious.

 

* * *

 

 

“You think the healer fixed him up?”

“I don’t know.”

“You think he knows what—

“I _don’t_ know.”

“You think—

Feet stomped off and the cloth of the tent whipped closed. The air tickled his nose and he awoke to Yasu hunched over him. He slid off the raised bed and hit the ground. He waited for the sharp pain in his stomach and the stab tenderness but nothing struck him. It was only the mild pain of his elbows on ground.

Yasu slid to the ground beside him. “Arnarel was here the whole time. Honest.”

“I heard.” Evune pushed himself off the ground. The tent was empty except for the three raised beds each on the corners of the tent sitting on bare grass. “Where are we?”

“The camp. A camp.” Yasu corrected himself. “You didn’t miss much except that Knight-Captain carrying you on his back.”

Evune blinked. No. He shook his head. “What happened to Winston, the tradesmen?”

“A friend?” Yasu said incredulously and he knew that Winston must’ve been a sight. He could see him punching the nearest Templar or at least trying.

“No. Not at all.”

They were camped out in another area he didn’t recognize. But it seemed closer to the waterfall where he was before than to the Waonui.

“They got to question him for a day, but those Qunari are smart. He had some kind of toxin woven into his sleeves. All he had to do was rub his arms until it cut and—

Evune reared back. “He killed himself.”

Yasu nodded.

Evune stumbled over his thoughts until finally catching up to the most important one. “I know where the blood mage was last seen. Or a guess, at least.”

Yasu tilted his head. “We figured. The Templars left to update the Archon and Consort. Left us to our job, the lazy bastards.”

“I hope you didn’t say that to their face.”

“Kid,” Yasu took on a serious expression. “I wish I did.”

He had to jam his knuckles in his mouth to stop from laughing but now that he did he knew his throat still needed to heal. The laughter caught in his throat like pebbles in an iron pot when the wave of grief hit him. Like a dam, water welling up the day before broke through and Yasu whistled beside him as he choked out tears. They were gone. He wouldn’t be having his naming ceremony if things continued and wasn’t that shit. He was going to be nameless for the rest of life as he used a fake name that he made on a whim. The worst part is that Davan and the Archon _told_ him. They said it was the Qunari but it didn’t seem real. There was always war. They were always fighting and now they lost.

They lost. Everything.

 He wiped his eyes with the back of his palm and cleared his throat. His voice, embarrassingly, cracked, “Where’s Arnarel?”

“Ah,” Yasu said and then he shrugged. They knew he couldn’t be far and they split up searching through the forests for the Dalish elf that probably still hated him.

Maybe hated him less if he stayed in the tent. . .that they shared. _Pala adahl’en(Fuck a forest), Yasu, you didn’t have to do that._ Yasu was a better person than Keela acted like he was and it seemed like they knew each other pretty well. Or maybe he just didn’t know them that well.

 He turned around and felt the trickle of eyes on the back of his neck.

 “I saw you.” The Porcelain Mask woman walked out from between the trees. She held her hands to the front of her black cloak. Evune flew flat against the tree clutching his chest and panting. Before he could open his mouth, she continued, “It’s an amazing feat to kill a beast such as that.”

It took him a moment to catch his breath still. Even longer to catch his thoughts. “You camped close?”

Her eyes lit up still cold and like marble glass. “It’s almost like you’re aiming to  _win_.” The woman swept forward with a shroud of miasma around her hand as she lifted it to his face. “You can’t gain their respect. There are people, no matter how hard they try, they will never garner the respect of their peers.”

“I’m happy with my clan’s life and mine, if I can.” Evune said as he stared at the fingers and gas hovering above his face. His hands sliding against the bark as he tried to twist around it slowly.

“Perhaps you thought by befriending the Archon’s brother and catching the interest of the Archon that you would win.” The tip of her finger tapped against his scar and he grasped up, clutching the sudden burning sensation stretching across his cheek. He wondered if all Tevinter magic existed to do was inflict pain and exert power—and in the rare occasions, make bubbles.

Evune gritted his teeth. “Win if you want, but the gold doesn’t last, words go out, and people die.” The woman pulled her fingers away from his face. “If you’re angry at me for trying, then try harder.” The miasma disappeared and echoes of the stinging sat against his cheek. He wondered again what this mark was. The woman’s eyes jumped from the trees beside them back to his face.

 “I don’t know what it is.” The miasma around her fingers evaporated into the air and she pressed a cold finger to his scar. She stared into his eyes deep enough that he could see his own reflection in her eyes. “But something about you aggravates me.”

“Marci! Marcella!” Gheeran’s voice called out. “We’re running out of deathroot!”

“I’m not what you think I am.” Evune stared at the array of expressions on her eyes. The iciness still there but a shadowed confusion flashed over it briefly.

“There is no other elf.” Marcella snapped and her eyes tightened before she pulled away and disappeared back into the trees. Just as she disappeared, an explosion of leaves burst out and Yasu flew out from the fallen pieces of plants.

“I was a hundred and ten percent sure you were dead, kid. Again.” Yasu reached over and shook Evune’s shoulders. “You have the worst luck.”

Arnarel came out from behind Yasu and continued. “She lied.”

Evune and Yasu shared a look before Yasu shrugged. He knew nothing.

Arnarel repeated, “Gheeran’s journal. Before you fell, we had the journal. It was blank. I asked her why and she said, ‘I was only told to give it to you.’”

“Okay,” Yasu added slowly, “and this changes—?”

“The journal was a trigger.”

Evune finished, “It summoned the water beast.”

“Someone wants to kill you.” Arnarel stared at him as if knew who. And Evune was starting to realize that there may be multiple people out to kill him and he had no idea why even if he had a guess as to “who”.

“How about we go to the last place the blood mage was seen first?” Evune tossed the question at the other two. “One thing at a time.”

Yasu cracked his neck and bent his back to the side. “It must be a Dalish thing to end quick.”

Evune opened his mouth to tell him that the joke was offensive—all quickening jokes were. But he was interrupted by a weird cough. He squinted his eyes and, yeah, it was Arnarel laughing.

 Yasu grinned. “That’s what you missed. One-thing-at-a-time kid.”

 

* * *

 

“He busts out the dome.” Yasu gestures wildly in the air as they shove through the green shrubberies blocking their way in the forest. A bird chirps up above them. “Shouts at the Archon. Talks back to the Consort. Asks the Knight-Captain a question _and_ even gets a ride on his back—the clean way.”

Arnarel was quiet for a moment and then nodded as if he understood. “One-thing-at-a-time kid. It’s a joke.”

“Yes!” Yasu grinned.

He sighed heavily and loudly, hoping the other two heard him. It wasn’t that they couldn’t have heard him but that they decided to ignore the sigh. He knew this and yet he sighed again, even louder. “Tell me it wasn’t—

“All in your pamphlet my dear friend.” Yasu cut in with another grin. “Gheeran is going to be jealous that your first part was printed first.”

Evune stopped. A branch caught against his hand. “Do they have Carin in there?”

“Well,” Yasu’s eyes jumped to Arnarel, who pointedly avoided his gaze. “yeah.”

“Great.” Evune starts striding forward so much faster that Yasu and Arnarel have to speed walk to meet his pace. “I’m sure they’ll find out about my clans and how they’re all dead too. Shit!” He slammed his hand against the nearest tree and a bird above them squawked flying up into the sky.

“We almost there?”

“Honestly,” Evune heaved out a breath. “We should’ve already been there.”

“Vashedan!” Yasu cursed. He pulled off the bandages on his arms and tossed them on the ground. “A bird shit on me.”

“It could be worse” Arnarel added. “It could be on your arm.”

Evune lifted his eyes up to the bird hopping on the branches above. “That bird, I think it’s the same bird.” He searched around the bushes around him until he found it—the bent branch of earlier. “We’re going around in circles.”

Yasu blankly stared back. “How?”

“We’re right by where they said the fisherman died. The mage is either really powerful or—

“He’s using a Temple’s security.” Arnarel interrupted.

“The Temple of Dirthamen.” Evune said with wonder rolling off the tip of his tongue. _The_ Temple. “There’s no tablets, tombstones, or—

“No.” Arnarel cut in.

Evune tossed an impatient look. “Arnarel—

“I know.” Arnarel answered. “I know.”

“Well, I don’t. Share it with me.” Yasu said.

“There are stories that say the gods used to hide their temples in plain sight like an invisible blanket.”

Yasu’s gaze jumped from Arnarel to Evune. Evune pressed a hand against his temple and sighed. “If we find this temple, its wards will disappear. Everyone will be able to see it. And. . .it will be another thing to be collected and hidden away as a part of Thedas’ unspeakable history.”

“We don’t have a choice though, guys, listen, I get the elves are all—

“Yasu,” Evune paused, “I’ve just—I’ve lost a lot these past few days. Give it a moment to sink in.”

“The sunset is distorted here.” Arnarel said before walking ahead.

Yasu and Arnarel looked up at the sky through the trees where they levelled out into bushes. The sky in all its watercolor glory wouldn’t have seemed outside the ordinary until it met in the middle. The middle of the sky stretched and the colors distorted, bending refracted light. It wasn’t nearly so hot to be a heat wave.

“Hand me a dagger.”

Yasu dropped one in his hand. Evune raised it and pressed it in the air far below the distorted line of color in the sky. His other hand hit solid stone as moved the dagger around the stone until finally he found a cold, metal object. He pushed the handle and it creaked open, pulling Evune in. Instead of hitting floor, there was a staircase and he rushed down the steps before catching himself, bruising his elbow in the process.

He could hear Yasu and Arnarel’s voices in the distance.

 _The barrier blocks out noise too. Great._ He made the motion to go back up but froze when grey green smoke floated in the air.

 _“You’ve lost so much, child. . . Don’t you deserve to win?”_ The voice spoke to him. Evune bared down on the voice and breathed, weathering through the barrage of words. Carin had told him about these.

This was the voice of a demon.

 _“. . . come down to the lower floor. I’ve been waiting. . . so. . . long.”_  It whispered in his ear and he grew dizzy.

 _No._ He pushed himself back against the wall. The dagger dropped down the spiraling darkness of the stairs.

 _“I’m the voice of reason you’ve ignored for far too long.”_  The voice laughed in his head.  _“Every day they told you, ‘Da’len, did you even try?’”_

“I was.” He said aloud and something wrapped his fist around his heart.

_“Of course you were, but what did they say, ‘What kind of elf can’t hunt?’”_

“Stop!”

His feet pulled him down the staircase but he couldn’t fight it. He just—he didn’t _want_ to fight it. And its words, the voice spoke such sweet words that he always wanted to say but couldn’t. He wasn’t _allowed_ to speak. Wounds and bruises that festered unraveled and opened.

_“But you were! You were more than good enough. An elf is more than a hunter. You’re a good person. You tried. You defeated a water beast all on your own.”_

“I did.” Evune shook his head. “I did. I always did. I knew herbalism better than anyone! I could build traps and fling daggers better than all our hunters!” He gritted his teeth and knew _all_ of this to be true. He was better than them in every way.

_“Not even Carin tried as hard as you. And where is she now?”_

“Dead.”

_“Your sister clans who judged you?”_

“Dead.”

_“Accept it. The weak, the failures, they’re the ones who die, but us? The survivors? We live on forever. That destiny, it’s always what you wanted isn’t it?”_

Evune shuddered. “How?” He squeezed into himself clutching the wall. There was something—he couldn’t think in a line.

_“Give me your body and I will give you your dreams.”_

“No.” the words sounded weak even to his ears. It was what he supposed to say.

 _“Why not, da’len?”_ The voice sung behind him.

“Stop! Don’t call me that!” Evune boxed his ears. “Leave me alone!” Every time someone called him that someone died. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to be a child anymore if all it did was hurt.

His foot hit the stone floor and a green light emanated in front of him. It was a statue of Vhenadahl—the tree of the People. In front of it, a person walked out from the light, its eyes glowing blue as a voice unnatural spoke through it with its face and body hidden under a robe. The voice laughed as a malformed creature fell from the light behind the person—its eyes a pitless gaze and its hands like squirming claws. The creature had no legs as it slithered forward.

“What are the chances?” It said, “That a child of the Oldest Line would find me. Perhaps it is providence that the other elf of Sylaise, that  _she_  did not find me.” The creature tossed out its hand and the person, much like a puppet being pulled by strings, raised its staff. Electricity spit from the staff and Evune barely rolled out from its strike. The creature screeched a high-pitched sound as it puffed out and flame danced along its skin The floor cracked into openings spewing fire, lava, and steam constricting the air.

He crossed his arms as if to block the wave of smoke but it threw him across the room and right into the wall. Illuminated by fire and electricity, the entirety of the room was a circular prison. There were no windows and no doors and the only way out was through the stairs. He covered his mouth as the smog snuck its way into his lungs. Sweat piled up along his skin and the room tilted on its side.

_“How I will love to take such a young, angry body of the People. The beauty of rage is all-consuming!”_

More electricity fell from the staff, lighting the room, bringing attention to the Vhenadahl and the table beside it. There were bloodied fingers and toes in a bowl upon it with blood dripping out from its place by the Vhenadahl statue. A small dagger sat underneath coated in dried blood. This wasn’t a temple but an altar of sacrifice.

Evune rolled again and his back smacked into the stone wall. The creature was playing with him.

The creature roared and spewed more fire blocking off the staircase and anyone else from reaching the bottom flooring. What little hope he had of Yasu and Arnarel appearing to help him evaporating like the blood the demon continued to drain. The demon whipped out a leash of fire and smacked it into the stone searing an opening in the wall, dust flew into the air as rock fell to the ground.  Evune lunged through the dust, sliding to snatch up the dagger, and smack into the nearest wall. He grappled the floor and pushed himself across the room. He raised a pained hand to his left shoulder where the whip made of fire cut his skin.  The demon, as if soothed by his wound, merely swayed back and forth. The mage beneath the cloak lifted its hood uncovering the face of an elven man.

His skin, pale and sickly, the thin lines of Vallaslin were hard to see under his short mop of black hair. The man was disconcertingly ordinary when regarding him to the present situation. His glowing eyes dampened to a natural brown as he spoke, “Why have you followed me?”

Evune coughed harshly. He lifted up his fists with the dagger clutched in one. “You’ve killed too many people. Someone has to stop you.”

“I don’t wish to kill you but if you don’t leave. I will have to.”

“I can’t do that.”

The man paused. “Wouldn’t you like your life? It would be a waste for one of the Oldest Line—

“Stop,” Evune hissed, “You murdered my villagers, my family, and then convinced my friend to betray her people. You—there’s no way you’re getting out of Seheron alive. If not them, the Qunari will find you. If not the Qunari, this demon will consume you.”

“Do you think you found me by accident? You naïve child.” His eyes flashed. “Do you really think you found the Altar of Dirthamen by accident? As we speak, my brother has killed your friend and strung him up to drain him dry.”

_. . .Betrayed again, da’len? Quickly becoming a common story for you. . ._

Evune pressed a hand against his ringing ear. The mage’s mouth opened and razor teeth appeared from between his lips contorting into a monstrous smile. What little was left of his humanity was leaking out as they spoke. “The demon only speaks to those with an unfed rage. Demons will find you, especially, a rare delicacy. Your family once danced and ate with demons. Did they not tell you?”

“Shut up!” He raced forward to slice the monster, claw his eyes out if he could, but was thrown back into the wall once again. His arms, now more bruised and bleeding, trembled as he pushed himself up. He clutched his stomach and pulled his hand away to find it covered in blood. Whoever healed him must’ve done a half-assed job. His knees smacked to the ground. No. He refused to go down. He’s reached too far.

Spitting on the ground, he lunged at the demon again. He whipped his arms forward and spun the dagger, watching as the demon dodged. The dagger flicked along his wrist onto his other hand for one harsh stab hitting flesh and bone. The creature howled and tossed him into the wall once more.

His fingers struggled to curl around the handle of the dagger as sounds felt to static. He heard voices, the muffled sound of Davan’s shouting. The world struck his ear in buzzes. His neck too weak to hold his head when he heard the sharp sound of metal pulled out its scabbard. He watched Davan stand in front him as his blood poured from his fingers, his side, and his mouth and straight into the mage’s body and its eyes glowed once again.

Sounds fell to silence. Evune could only hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest like a song.

He blinked once. The demon grew larger and its fire spun ever faster.

He blinked twice. The mage’s eyes glowed so bright it watered his eyes.

The third time he blinked the demon grappled in the air as if reaching to the sky as the mage burned in an inferno of blue fire. The demon disappeared.

And then, he saw no more.

 


	6. Chapter Six

_8 th day of Matrinalis_

The Archon lied.

 

He listened to Davan’s explanation, his apologies but it meshed into a mess of words and ideas that didn’t make sense. Things that would _never_ make sense. Perhaps it made sense in the Imperium but not here, not to an elf.

“You failed the trial.” The camp was much like the one Davan had when he was posted near Evune’s village. There were tents for each of them and within each tent enough room for a comfortable bed, a small table, and a chair—the bare essentials. There were footmen soldiers guarding the camp and the surrounding area from any random creatures or Qunari. But, Davan’s tent, unlike the one he had before, was much larger. The inside was decorated with wooden posts and stone figurines of dragons and gurguts as if a private collection of rare creatures. The scent of clean water and freshness filled up the room too as if he had recently bathed in this very space. To separate rooms there were flaps like dividers to create rooms and the appearance of space, but, much like the people of Tevinter, it led you into a false understanding. The dividers were for appearances only. The whole tent might as well had been one large room.

In the middle of the tent sat a rectangular wide table with a map of plans on it in a language Evune gathered to be Tevene with several marking etched in. Davan stood in front of the table and in front of Evune. He apologized again. “My brother wanted the mage alive. Without the mage, we’ve lost the chance to find the object. And so—

Evune pressed his hand against his forehead. He had to steady his breathing as his heart quickened. “How do I save my mother? My village? There has to be a way. None of this is my fault.” 

“After defeating the water beast and surviving Waonui,” Davan said hesitantly. He leaned on his side and winced. His injury from the fight with the demon was still healing. “There’s enough evidence to believe that you killed the mage too.”

“Without magic.” Evune added.

“Magic is not a necessity. Even Tevinters know that, ” Davan crossed his arms in a way that ordinarily look stubborn but the man only look contrived with a hanging head. “the surprise isn’t that it turned to ash right after but rather that the demon turned on the host. It killed itself which goes against everything we know about demons.”

“Maybe you’re all wrong.” Evune raised an unerring eye. “This whole time we were out searching for a _toy_ and my people are dying. Instead of blaming me, wasting my time, your people should keep their facts straight. It didn’t turn on the mage. It lit on fire.”

“I know. You're right about everything. I would rather be back at home attending to the needs of the Imperium's people than out here.” To Evune’s surprise, Davan broke his gaze and his eyes fell to the ground. “I was there both times and I wish we had done something, but--”

“Then why—

Davan leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “Demons _don’t_ turn on their host _or_ suddenly turn into flames especially after stealing the blood of an enemy. Blood magic is strengthened by blood not destroyed. And to do either of those things. . . this isn’t a simple miscalculation. Something not known to ever happen in the thousands and thousands of years in the Imperium happened. For that, they will keep you alive for centuries to analyze every piece of your body from your eyeballs, to your ears, your fingers, your nails, your skin, your blood, and then keep you as a specimen when the research is done.”

Evune swallowed harshly.

“And when the research is done, they will parade you around as your lungs, your heart, and your mind gasp to finally let that final breath come. But they won’t. It never will.” Davan continued. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists on the table. He shook his head. “I don’t know what I saw. I don’t care. But you should. You need to be careful from now on. Your people may be in danger but you must first save yourself.”

Evune closed his eyes and shoved down the malformed knot sticking in the pit of his stomach. Every time he woke up he could hear whispers. None like the demon but these distorted, nearly mute, voices kept coming from the same direction. He hoped to never see a demon again. "What should I do?”

“I spoke to your mother.” Davan admitted. “She told me about your journal.”

Evune winced. He had forgotten about it and not once had it ever occurred to him to search for it. Leaning back against the table, he pressed a hand against his temple. "There's something in the journal about this."

"Your mother was," Davan paused, "vague about it but she often spoke of the great things you would do."

"They tended to do that."

Davan nodded. "These last few days, I would have to agree."

"You had to come in and save me, both times." Evune returned. "Those great things don't exist."

"So you say."

He didn't like how Davan furrowed his brows at Evune's statement. Why couldn't people let things be? His hand brushed down the shelf behind him and he knocked a small statuette down. It was in the shape of a demon. The oddly mirror-like quality of the stauette unnerved him. They had seen demons enough times to make toys out of them. Was he truly so strange an occurrence? “The mage spoke about having a brother.” He imagined the heat searing across his skin when Davan leaned forward and plucked the statuette out from his hand. The Knight-Captain slid it on the map before he cleared his throat, guilt painted all over his face.

 “Yes, that is something we’re already aware of.”

“What he Knight-Captain means to say,” Arnarel snapped open the tent and now standing between Davan and Evune, “that I’m the brother.”

 “You two were working together." 

"I had to." Arnarel's voice was gravelly and tight as if he hadn't spoken in the last day or perhaps had spoken too much. The distant look on his face that Evune had just mistaken for trickery came to mind. Evune always believed his first _real_ kill, face-to-face, would leave him wracked with a hatred for war, but he was glad the mage was dead. Even after knowing he was Arnarel’s brother, but the other elf did not look well.

“Arnarel was the only one familiar with both his brother before and after the demon.” Davan added.

“The demon told me you were going to betray us.” Evune carefully said to Arnarel. "I want you both to explain it to me." The metal in Davan's armor shifted so quickly that Evune expected shavings to fall to the floor. If Evune was an open book, then Davan was a window for all to see through. "If someone wants me dead, and you know about it, I want the truth."

“I’ve never liked shemlen. The Knight-Captain is workable.” Arnarel said, “But nothing I've done can betray Tevinter, even if I wanted to.” He stood up and showed Evune his palm. It had a brand of three stars and a fish beneath it. He closed his fist tight.

“My family’s brand.” Davan’s voice spoke warily. “My brother can be a soulless bastard when desperate and this allows a vow of allegiance.”

“Is that what my mark is?” He didn't like the sound of that. Pressing a finger against the mark on his cheek, he wondered if that is how they found him at Waonui.

Davan shook his head. “Your mark is merely tracking, so that we know where you all are at all times. A modified version of this brand.”

"This is how you found me then."

"Yes."

Arnarel cut in, “Originally, I was to be bait. I didn’t know the demon would keep the wards untouched and find the temple—

“Altar.”

Arnarel glared Evune's interruption but he knew it was all in good humor. “The _altar_ of Dirthamen. It’s not a spell my brother knew. But our First on the other hand. . . ”

“Your First?”

“The Keeper is the leader of a clan.” Arnarel said with his voice oozing judgment and an upturned nose at Evune’s question. “The First is the Keeper-in-training.”

“The demon spoke of the other elf of Sylaise, could this be her?”

Davan tossed a look at Arnarel and Arnarel’s fists tightened as if to disagree on reflex. The Vallaslin-wearing elf retorted, “It is unlikely that Deshanna survived the attack. She has not been seen since.”

Before Evune could ask, Davan answered, “Their clan was attacked by a High Dragon. His brother called upon a demon to save them.”

“Tevinters seems not to be as,” Arnarel’s lips twisted, “disgusted as others with the use of blood magic yet they requested my brother’s help in their search in the promise that they would protect our survivors.”

Evune veered on Arnarel. “If it’s your plan that failed, why am I being punished?”

Arnarel gritted his teeth but said nothing.

Instead, Davan replied, “Many of his clan wanted vengeance, hated us, hated blood magic, and fought against us. Arnarel’s brand is a vow he made to protect the survivors.”

“I’m the only rogue element, is that it?” Evune tossed out. He crossed his arms and scoffed. “I haven’t seen a group of Dalish ever around here—these survivors.”

Davan threw a placating hand in front of Arnarel, who had taken a threatening step forward, and said, “An issue that is none of your concern.”

Evune sniffed. Fine. But he still didn't like how his supposed "allies" were casting the blame on him. "This is Elvia's doing, isn't it?"

Davan's silence was telling enough. He shared a look with Arnarel.

“There is one more curious thing.”  Arnarel asked. His hooded eyes uncovered in the light as gray like he hadn't slept in days. Had he looked the same in the forest? He was wrapped up in his clan's lost he wasn't sure he would have noticed. What else past him by?  “Why did my brother pull you in?”

“It seems even demons speculate on the color of my hair.” Evune warmed up his arm, although the room was at the perfect temperature, “I didn’t know the Dalish spoke of those things.”

As if distracted by his use of Dalish, Arnarel clicked his tongue like an elder. “We keep the legacy of Elvhen close at heart.” He gave them a stilted nod and said, “I will try to review any familiar places in the meantime.”

 

"Here," Davan handed him his mother's journal, briefly brushing over his fingers. The white leather and engraved embroidery were blessed things. It felt like ages since he had been home and his problems were only being the fetching boy. He contorted his body back against the table and overlooked the map as if the position of statuettes or papers disturbed him.

When Arnarel left the tent, Davan’s shoulders slumped out of the countenance of Templar Knight-Captain into this impenetrable shroud of guilt that Evune had believed arrogance when they first met. It was like he was one of those martyric heroes out from the Tales of Illoren that Evune once spent hours reading. These failures, although on Evune's shoulders, had taken a perch on his as well when in every way Davan had succeeded where Evune had failed.  

"The Qunari problem is being handled."

Davan's stony expression cracked and a small smile broke through. "It would behoove you to know that Elvia said those very same words."

"Ah," Evune twisted his hands in the air and pretended to glide forward, "well all good breeding and all."

"The gods must find you strange to be so kind when--" Davan said, his voice losing humor and cracking in the middle. "I had to send a battalion off to the outer coasts The Qunari were planning to take one of our forts there by using your clans as stepping stones."

 _Stepping stones. . ._ He kept his tone light. "Is this a first for you?"

"No." Davan's hands clenched upon the table and stared back at the map, mindlessly, "It is that I know many men will be lost. They were prepared for us, perhaps even years ago, and it slipped my notice. I'm surprised you don't blame me for your clan's death. My _oversight_ killed hundreds if not thousands and there are still many more that will." 

It may have been then that he noticed that Davan's likeness was that of a deep forest. Dark hair like the furling leaves of autumn midday--those evergreens. And that on his chin was a slight stubble like the remnants of rock after a cool rain. He didn’t have pale skin like Elvia or even the brownish tan of Keela or the ruddy white of his brother. It reminded him of the sun through the cracks between trees. Davan had no reason to keep his secret or to respect Arnarel’s feelings. Those thoughts twisted a dagger in his chest. Something in him didn’t want to compare Davan to the other Tevinters he had met, even his brother.

"I forgive you." Evune said.

Davan sucked in a breath and then sighed. "Don't."

  
"For killing Carin. The way things ended up. . .it was all her choice. The Qunari didn't plot against her. Not even Winston. Our warrior's deaths were on her." Evune pressed, hoping that Davan would understand. "For everything else, the blame is not on you or me but their murderers."

"Do not punish yourself for having mercy. Even loyalty." Davan clenched his hands. His voice deepened as he spoke darkly, "Too few people have it." He winced and rubbed at his shoulder before leaning back against his table of maps.

"Then you should do the same."

"It is hard to do so," Davan added, his tone measured and even, "when your family plots to kill family and politics is the only avenue for conversation."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago." Davan creaked his neck, the sound of metal sliding against each other screeched again, and he made a pained sigh. 

“Do you have to wear your armor all the time?”

Davan blinked. “The armor is for protection.” 

 “It looks like it’s hurting you." Evune tapped against the armor. It was layers thick and hard enough to bend his nail. He drew up a scrutinizing gaze at the Templar. "Shouldn’t you wear something else when injured or even while in the protection of your tent.”

“You haven't been in Tevinter long enough.” Davan replied, humorously. "There is no safety."

“You have guards outside your tent.”

“But not inside it.” Davan replied.

“Do I appear dangerous?”

Davan gave him a perusing glance catching sight of his bruises and cuts on his cheek to his arms. "Would you be insulted if I said, 'No.'?"

Evune flicked his gaze up to the ceiling praying to the gods. “It’d also be nice if the Knight-Captain didn’t collapse on his watch.”

“You’re rather rude now that we’re friendly.” Davan turned around and then unclicked the clasps on the side of his armor. His hand stretched to the center of the back of his armor but his hand kept sliding past it. “If you could, unlock the trigger.”

Evune tried to walk forward as nonchalant as possible. He clicked the bent back trigger of the armor and the armor loosened enough for Davan to slide it off. Underneath his armor, he wore a light blue tunic, taut against his shoulders and back, and white under leggings that were loose in comparison. The menacing form, or rather impenetrable form, of the Knight-Captain shrunk.

“I’m sorry that was thoughtless.”

Evune blinked. What was he apologizing for now?

“The last time I asked Arnarel to unlock it he nearly cut me in half. You’re never required to help me remove my armor like a . . .a . . .servant”

“That’s not why I did it.” Heat flushed up his cheeks. He was sure that wouldn't come off  _correct_.   _Fenedhis._ "I mean, you needed help and I've needed help so--

“Oh.”

His hair must've known what a moment it was because his braid chose this moment to unravel. After all his trials, it chose  _now_.  Davan stepped forward and moved his hand to reach for Evune’s long braid. He twisted it around his finger, his finger slowly trailing up the braid until it reached Evune’s cheeks. He held a gentle hand over the scar and where Evune half-expected pain he received a gentle graze. "I learned how to braid when I was young. My mother, a scholar, taught the servant's children. She had me do their hair at times."

He could've gone for the easy, 'And I remind you of the servant's children?' but he opted for being nice, for once, "The scalp too?"

"Well--"  Davan pulled away and cleared his throat. “It--I will see you tomorrow before send off.” He turned back to the map and touched the ends of the map as if turning a page. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." 

 

                                                                                 

* * *

 

 Continuing from the pages he last read, the journal was a book of tales if nothing else. But it was difficult for him to understand where the white hair came in to play. Several times they referenced the "Telban Dhula" but they were in more recent pages. And they wrote nothing of blood mages.

It was a dead end.

 

In the morning, there was a round table open for them eat at. Yasu avoided him obviously and pointedly. In light of what happened, he believed Yasu had seen something or noticed something was off about the mage's death. Evune was in the mood to agree. Exploding demons weren't normal. Although, neither were demons. Even then, Yasu sat at the table minding his own business as he ate silently.

Evune teetered between healing from his injuries and keeping a close eye on the other members of the Hole especially Marcella. The healer that had helped him before seemed oddly absent and he didn't want to trouble anyone for a few scrapes and bruises that sleep would fix. But, that was not the current issue.

Awkwardness could not begin to describe how it felt to have Marcella's beady eyes stare him down. Keela and Arnarel were nowhere to be seen, of course, while Gheeran was all too willing to hold a conversation with him as if nothing was off. Her act in the play of the water beast was likely done in an effort to _please_ Marcella. She was still under the pretense that he had no idea. He was once again stuck in the middle of a rock and a hard place.

“Fish and oats!” Gheeran said. “It’s my favorite. They rarely made this in the Circle. ‘Blasphemy.’ the Senior Enchanters used to say about eating Tevinter food but the cook made it anyway. What do you think?”

Evune had a million of words and descriptions to say. None of which were nice. He didn't know what world would find the texture of mud to taste good until today. He didn't understand why some of the fish still had their bones and, furthermore, he didn't understand why they ate animal feed at all. Oats were for cows and chickens. Not people.

“She just asked you something.” Marcella’s voice cut in coldly.

“It’s good.” He covered his cheek and his mouth twisting in distaste.

Gheeran grinned. She was the only person able to coax out anything other than insults from Marcella too. He picked at the mixture of fish and wheat in his bowl--knocking the bones aside because, why? And he stirred it around in an effort to waste time. The thick grainy paste-like gruel, however bright and fresh it appeared, reminded him once again that he was far from home.

Gheeran repeated, “Grenades and Herbalism go well in hand, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how you did it.”

The two mages stared at him and he wasn't sure what he had missed.

"Killing the blood mage." Gheeran repeated, but she lowered her voice and looked over her shoulder at the guards posted around the perimeters. "You know."

“I don't know because I didn’t do it.” Evune answered back. His eyes looked searchingly as if trapped. “It could’ve been an altar trap it triggered or the host killed himself.”

“Without any spring triggers or toxin residue? Nice try. I have heard that elemental magic—”

He patted his chest and felt for the placement of his mother’s journal. It reminded him that he needed to check the journal. His mother may have written something down about him. He couldn't help but remember his mother saying that he was, "an ordinary child".

“The idea of elemental magic actually has nothing to do with controlling the elements. We can’t change the weather or anything at all really. Small spots or large spots but spots all the same. It would take twenty mages and a pound of mana.” Gheeran paused and tapped a hand against her chin. “I think it has to do with ancient times since elemental wards have fallen out of favor. I wrote a few essays on Elemental Studies. I couldn’t get any published but—

“You’re here to get your work out to the public.” Evune interrupted her rant. He had a feeling that Gheeran was the genius of the group. 

Gheeran stuck a spoon in her mouth and waved a free hand. “Yes, magical researchers and alchemy in Southern Thedas has practically halted. Every few years a large rush of demons and students being possessed eclipses anything else. I’ve had to do work in secret. Only Tevinter will appreciate that.”

“Chew before you speak.” Marcella said coolly.

Gheeran rolled her eyes and finished eating what sat in her bowl. Evune noticed then that Marcella didn’t have a bowl in front of herself. He imagined that she didn’t want to take off her mask and ate far earlier than the rest of them to prevent that.

He raised his eyes and sniffed the air. The smell of iron and sharpening swords wafted in the air. The footmen had been sharpening their blades before they woke for breakfast. The cloying scents of iron and sword oil were ultimately covered up with the smell of the fresh fish in their bowls. There were three more guards pacing the camp than yesterday and Davan's orders were never sent. He hoped the next trial would be easier.

“Why the mask?”

Marcella blinked. “The mask?”

He motioned his whole face, pretending to cover everything but his eyes. Marcella sighed heavily.

“I was educated in an elementary and advanced education in Orlais. I took my collegiate courses in the Imperium and worked with the Black Divine as an apprentice for two years.”

Evune hummed in acknowledgment. “I’m sure that’s all important but that’s not what I asked.”

Marcella leaned forward with her hands displayed on the table, you could see her nails a sharp curve. “I was raised for this very position. This is all you need to know.”

“This position. . . I’m guessing is something everyone knows about.” Evune questioned. Marcella and Gheeran shared a look while the others ignored his question as if it wasn’t even spoken.

“How did anyone find you?” Marcella said, almost prodding.

Gheeran added, “Dumb luck from I’ve heard.”

“Yes, that’s what it was.” Evune said, he mixed his gruel but it had thickened as it sat. It was no longer edible. Why was he not surprised? “Dumb luck.”

“Please, I know all about the simple brands,” Marcella pulled her hands from the table and lifted up her palm where a small brand of a fruit stood. “I know the Templars planned a trap. The only thing I’m interested in is how a rage demon was able to spot you so quickly. It’s almost like it was waiting for you.”

Evune pursed his lips. He didn’t know what she was trying to say but he had also never studied or knew much of anything at all when it came to magic or elvhen temples.

"They work large distances too?" Gheeran asked excitedly. "I can't wait to get to a library."

“Oh, but the library wouldn't tell us the truth, now, would it? I thought you were hiding some magical abilities or that they were right about you trying to save your people, but that’s not it.” Marcella said with confidence in every word. Her voice light and sharp. “You must be festering a lot of rage and anger to attract a demon, especially without magic. You think the Archon doesn’t know that.”

Evune’s brows furrowed. “My people are the only reason I’m here at all.”

A smiled placed itself on Marcella’s face and interlocked her fingers above the tabletop. “Power is an alluring delicacy. And we’re all here for the same reason.” Marcella said almost as if this very understanding had watered the flame of distaste she had towards him.

Gheeran whispered to him, “They say you killed the blood mage in revenge for your clan. I mean, we understand but to challenge the Archon.” She shook her head.

 “I wouldn’t endanger my clan.” Evune’s hands clenched tightly to his leg.

“You’re only human, well, elf, but still.” Gheeran said and she shrugged her shoulders. “No one would do all this for a handful of villagers.”

Yasu pushed away from the table and Evune jumped up after him.  They didn't get much more than a few feet away before Yasu stopped and turned around with a raised brow.

"You don't believe all that." Evune slowly said. He shifted from one foot to the next. "You're just about the most normal person here. If you think--

Yasu asked. "How did you kill a demon?"

"I didn't." Evune lied. He clasped his hands together and nodded. "I only--

Yasu lashed out. "Stop lying!" Evune clamped his mouth shut. Yasu lowered his voice and continued to speak. "You don't understand what it's like not to have freedom, to not have a choice. You've lived in peace and luxury, but to hear you walk around making promises, saying things that aren't true like you've actually suffered or that you cared at all. Your whole crying about your people almost got me. I almost believed." Yasu shook his head. He turned around and walked away.

Evune watched the back of his head disappear up the camp towards the tents. He was starting to wonder if there really was something wrong with him. Maybe normal people didn't do the things he did. Maybe they didn't promise to help people and stick to it. Evune wanted to know if that was what his birthright was. To stick it out until the end, which could very well be his death. Why didn't it sound so crazy to him?

He walked back to the dinner table and motioned to slide into the benches when, "Evunial of the Nazari.”

The table hushed.

A woman in deep red robes and thin glasses stood in front of them. Her hair was a deep umber brown tied into a large bun as if she needed free space on her shoulders for the heavy bag of scrolls she carried. There was even an additional scroll in her hand. Her long, thin arms and long neck gave her the appearance of someone who was more aristocratic, more _important_.

He stood away from the table. “That would be me.”

“Follow me” The woman turned around. Up a hill and through the thick of trees, the spot was well-hidden for how large it was. She led him to a large tent a distance away from the main camp. He thought it was a tent for the footmen soldiers since it was larger than Davan’s.

 

The inside of the tent was much like an actual room in an actual building missing the stone walls.  There was carpet on the floor, different patterns of wallpaper on the tent lining, and decorations on the ceiling. There was a small bookcase, an eating table, fruits and bread atop it, a cut-off where a bedroom laid, and a seating area directly to the right of the entrance.

She pointed to the lush seating area where the chairs were padded, and the glass table was crystalline. Nothing in her tent seemed less than extravagant. There was even a small ball of light floating above them, following them as they walked. She took one of the chairs, dropping her scrolls to the ground in a loud thump, while Evune took the opposing chair. She straightened the extra scroll still in her hand on the table. An ink well and quill already sat on the table half-used. She dabbed the tip of the quill on her tongue and then began to write.

The scritch-scratching of the quill on the scroll was a strange sound and she wrote very quickly so that it sounded like a light zipping. But, the longer she wrote the more it released a sense of trepidation within him.

Why was he here? Was he being punished?

 Finally, she put the quill down.

“I asked you here, because Davan trusts you. He thinks,” the woman paused as if thinking of a better word or phrase for the word she had originally planned on saying. Evune was sure the word was a reference or even a designation to refer to his elf-like status. He’s surprised by her use of the pause at all. She continued, “He thinks you deserve to know about the Hand of Thoth and why we’re actually here.”

Evune rubbed a jittery hand along his throat. 

The woman sighed. She rolled up the scroll and then pulled out from her robe pockets a scroll circlet. She put it on the table and slid it to Evune’s side of the table. “The Hand of Thoth is an elven artifact from thousands of years ago. Most of the Imperium forgets that a third of our magic, culture, and tradition comes directly from the ancient elves.”

Evune added, “You can get to the parts that I don’t already know.”

The woman stared at him until Evune shifted uncomfortably. “I am Magister Nanterius the Praetor of Vyrantium, usually, but, presently, of Seheron and I represent the Magisterium in regards to this search. My job, if you will, is to make sure our resources are efficiently used when retrieving the artifact.”

“The magisterium is hundreds of people like you then.” Evune said. He didn’t like this at all. The politics of dealing with multiple Fog Warrior clans was something his father excelled at but he was never any good. Tevinter politics was likely just as bloody and stupid but with cakes or fish wheat gruel.

Magister Nanterius grimly replied, “We had believed the Hand of Thoth whereabouts was in a journal we found a few decades ago but with our ongoing war with the Qunari it was impossible to push an expedition effort until now. Unfortunately, we have found out with the help of Arnarel’s clan that this journal only tells us where to find the map that carries the actual location.”

“I don’t see where I come in.” Evune said, “I’m only here to finish the trials.”

“This is beyond clue finding.” Magister Nanterius stood up. She straightened her collar and her sleeves. “Knight-Captain Davan saw your personal writings and noted that it was in the same language as this journal.” She walked over behind one of the dividers and came back with a slim book with leather coverings and golden symbols on the cover. “You can read elvish. This is something not even Arnarel can help us with and his brother can no longer.”

Evune closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his face. He would be having another conversation with Davan. Soon. “Fine, but I want my villagers taken out of the prison and into a more comfortable holding. I want them to be taken care of while I’m doing this.”

“Of course.” She nodded and placed the book beside the scroll. “This scroll carries the signatures of the Archon, me, and the Knight-Captain with the seal of the Imperium’s approval. It will get you into any Tevinter-led settlements easier and with more _respect_

“You knew I was going to accept.”

 “I knew you weren’t stupid.” Nanterius frowned. She sat back down in her chair and began to pull out her bag of scrolls. “In the meantime, the Knight-Captain will announce the next trial.”

Evune knocked the chair back as he stood up, it skidded on the thin wood flooring. “This isn’t a part of the trials.”

“No.” The magister raised her eyes to meet his. “But, I wouldn’t suggest failing the trials. The Archon and his wife don’t take failure well.”

Evune clenched his hands to his side.

He was _definitely_ having a harsh conversation with Davan.

 


	7. Chapter Seven

 

 

 

“I can’t do this.” Evune hunched forward on the table of Davan’s tent. He couldn’t shoot a bow. He can’t hold his temper. He trusts people on face-value and it keeps biting him in the ass. He can’t do  _this_. “I can’t--

"You can't?" The words from the Knight-Captain were not helpful. To Evune, it was like the man wanted to make him angry and find out what made him tick, which, ordinarily, wasn't a hard thing to do, but he was trying this new thing called "patience". He didn't like this either.

"I cannot do any of this." Evune repeated evenly. His mother's education had been far beyond that of the village's primary studies of language, skilled trade, and basic hunting. She taught him three dialects of elvish of what she called, "High. Low. And common." in what he's learned are all the dialects reoccurring in the journal she gave him. "The elvish aside. Which was luck, by the by. The trials. Arnarel’s First? You volunteered me without my say-so like-like--”

"I believe in you. Yes,” Davan stated so matter-of-fact that Evune's calm demeanor was gone. If he wanted an angry Evune, surprise!

"Stop it!" Evune hissed,  "Keeping my clan alive is enough. I don't owe your people anything.”

“But you could do more, _be_ more.” Davan walked around the table to stand beside him and sighed. He lowered his voice, “I am not so arrogant to tell you who you are, but I know that letting things be as they are is unacceptable to you. You killed a water beast. Survived the Qunari. If the waterfall hadn't been enough, Nanterius would have done anyone else a disfavor. You earned this.”

"It doesn't seem like much of a reward." The soldier statuettes on Davan's map stood out to him now that he knew what they were. The whole map was full of soldier statuettes and random dragon statuettes. It was another book of war and death, betrayal and sacrifice, and he was disinterested. Who was he to aspire to be? He had no magic. No way to travel. He was stuck.

 “Nanterius has ended the pamphlets this year. Only the beginning stories, if you will, exist. ” Davan said softly and his voice contemplative. This change meant nothing to Evune. “We are a theatrical society. Moreso than Orlais but that rigidity, the honor of history is important to us. To do this is a political maneuver. She wants change."

"Through me."

Davan's trail of thought was interrupted by what Evune could only believe was the wrong answer. The Knight-Captain straightened his shoulders and turned back to the map displayed. "Marcella is more bark than bite but Elvia--"

"Why is she trying to kill me? It has to be more than what I know." 

Davan furrowed his brows and hitched a seat on the table. He trailed his fingers on the map. "There's incidents of people disappearing from our mines. People that Elvia employs. They're casteless and Liberati--the lowest classes in the Imperium. No one has tried to answer why. It was in part the reason I did not know the Qunari was gaining ground. My men were told to avoid stacking disappearances."

"She wouldn't--

"I don't know." Davan admitted. "Had Elvia been working with the Qunari we would have caught her, I believe. There are other things in the background that I don't feel comfortable stating that are the more likely cause."

Evune hated the sound of that. "Joy, let me guess, like how you made me bait."

"Well," Davan paused, "Yes. Is that something else--?"

"The blood mage told me, yes, he did. And the water beast?"

"No." Davan's voice cut in. "It was supposed to give away your position with sparks in the air, not kill you. The ward was changed to release that creature from its sleep."

"Marcella." Evune said, "She's the one. I don't know Gheeran but she doesn't seem the type. Either way, the Qunari found me too quickly. A spy might be--

"It's been handled."

The quick cleanliness of the reply was nearly missed. "Who was it?"

"His name was Viktor but you know him as Winston." Davan gestured towards the bookcase holding his shelves of statuettes before pulling a book out to hand to Evune. "A Ferelden-born. He deserted months ago but the information he handed over was staggering." Evune flipped open the book and found a list of the recorded conversation of Winston before his suicide. "He told us very little but what little he said had to do with the clans."

"Are you--?"

"If you want," Davan started, "you can look into it. I can't give you any resources, but if you can prove the Qunari are using this as a ploy to gain ground I'll be able to do something. Not much but something."

Evune tightened his hold on the book before snapping it closed. "Thank you." Davan turned back to the table with barely a nod and he felt like nugshit.  Evune opened his mouth,“I don’t know if this can help you, but it may make you look worse. The Qunari--it's not going too well, is it?"

Davan snorted. "Define 'well'. We've been losing ground for years. This is the first 'well' we've done in many years. Every year it's like the perfect amount of back and forward, push and pull like a dance. All this can do is help at this point."

"I didn't know it was that bad."

"The Hole," Davan paused, "It's original purpose was to facilitate a bond within the community. Qunari sneak into the Imperium under the guise of our people and leave because we don't offer them that same equality that same standard in life."

Evune tossed an incredulous look. “These trials weren't because the Archon and the Consort hate each other.”

“It’s about finding a fulcrum to strengthen Tevinter.” Davan said and moved one of the statuettes across the map to a fort before motioning his fingers around the map and pushing the pieces back one. “Whether it be the Hand of Thoth, a bond of trust between the higher powers, or even a foreign figure, the Imperium is lacking stability.”

“Well, it won’t gain one through me, Yasu, or Arnarel, will it? And Gheeran and Marcella couldn't care less.”

“It could. We could.” Davan said, his voice soft like lush moss, verdant and bright, “We won’t know if we don’t try.” He leaned in, the warmth of his body emanating off his skin. He wasn’t wearing his armor now. It bypassed his notice since it didn't matter before he moved his arm to the left of Evune, trapping him against the table pressed against his back. It didn't matter before his skin touched his--fingers over fingers.

Evune didn’t panic because, first of all, Davan was cool as a fruit--which was the wrong idea to think first--and there was no hardness against his back. In all honesty, at another time, it would've been the easy choice. He swallowed harshly. “Davan. My people _first._ ”

“Yes.” Davan answered lightly as if this was a common gesture. "I know."

“First, Davan.”

“There's no room for anyone, anything else. A second or third."

Evune twisted around and faced Davan. His fingers lightly touched Davan’s on both sides of them. 

Davan asked, “Do you want me to move?”

_Fenedhis._

“Yes? No?”

Davan hummed as Evune raised his eyes and repeated, “No.”

Davan leaned forward and raised his hand, tilting Evune’s neck just slightly. It was a very simple kiss. He pressed his lips, soft and careful, to his and their mouths moved in opposing friction. His cheeks suddenly felt warm. His eyes fluttered open and he caught briefly that Davan’s cheeks were also red. Evune didn’t feel a rush of power or control. There was only vulnerability.

And then, it wasn’t so simple. Davan’s hands slid to his back and pressed him against the table, lifting him up to sit on its edge. Their mouths became their whole body and Evune was lost. Lost in a purely good way, he could recognize, but lost all the same. His head tilted back even more and Davan’s hand gently holding his braid. Davan pulled away first and Evune grappled with the air. He didn’t want it to stop. He kept his eyes closed.

Davan moved a hand to Evune’s cheek. “I promise that Tevinter will never own you. If you--One day, you can trust me."

Evune opened his eyes and covered it up with a loud exhale. Davan may already be too late. “Those pages first and if I find something."

"I'll be here."

And before he felt he could embarrass himself further, he left.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Every night sky, starry sunset, and moonlit day out from the horizon, the forest became a desolate place. They had been speaking for hours and he could feel it in the ache of his shoulders yet the darkness of the forest was a heavier burden. Imminent in its bad news. It was in this darkness that he caught the flash of white, Marcella's mask, disappear. He pulled out from the inside of his tunic the signed parchment Nanterius gave to him and spoke to the nearest guard. “I need to get through.”

The guard sniffed and tilted his head. “It’s late. No settlements open at this time.”

He didn't expect it to work but it was worth one try. “I need to take a shower.”

"This late?" Without waiting for answer, the guard heaved a sigh and trailed behind him. The dark made it hard to see anything but the reflection off the guard’s armor in the moonlight. He brushed through the low branches and stepped on leaves until reaching the bathing tent, marking his steps for when he would have to go back. He sat inside and listened to the steps of the guard as he stood at watch. Evune slid his feet along the grass, missing the snap of leaves and reached the other side, crawling underneath before pushing out to the other end outside. Finding Marcella’s footsteps, long, thin, gentle imprints, were easy enough but as he followed her footsteps it took him a while before reaching a tree close enough to hide behind.  The vantage point showed Marcella lean forward speaking to a hooded figure. Holding his breath, he listened to her voice and not that of the forest.

“The Lady Consort did not make me aware of such. . .an arrangement.” She said. The light of her porcelain mask must’ve been molded out of mineral stones as each one glittered illuminating her dark eyes.

The messenger scoffed, a posh voice answered, “The Lady Consort is not required to tell a relative of traitors anything. No one knows how deep the poison spreads.”

“I imagine I must proceed with _intent_. I would rather not--”

“You have no choice.” The messenger hissed. “All you must do is dismantle the elf. Make him fear and hate Tevinter. Once he attaches back to his clan, the plan will proceed as planned.”  

“He’s garnered trust among the Knight-Captain. There is even the chance he's gained it through the Archon as well.” Marcella argued. "I can't--

“Then destroy those bonds. And if he still fights, kill him.”

Marcella stiffly nodded.

“I will relay to the Lady Consort. Do not disappoint us like your family already has.”

Marcella and the hooded messenger parted ways. Evune pressed back against the tree and then trailed after the messenger. The messenger walked without break for an hour and Evune could feel his ankles weighed down by the distance. When the messenger reached the camp, it was a makeshift fort with footmen at every angle and a thickly protected tent standing on a flattened hilltop. He wondered if he had gone too far. 

He ran up the hill and caught sight of footmen guarding a blanketed cart. An angular shaped jutted out from the blanket and a flicker of light appeared then disappeared. He crept around the trees and then picked up a few pebbles.

He whistled in the air.

“What was that?” One of the footmen said. He turned to the other footmen.

The other footmen said, “A bird. I think.”

Evune threw the pebbles at the tree ahead of him but behind them. The footmen shared looks and peered over the hill before walking down. Evune jumped from tree to tree until he reached the cart, seeing the footmen search in bushes and look up at trees.

He moved the blanket to find a mirror with vines twisting around it and its glass distorting green light. He pressed his hand against it, feeling it for its coolness. It was much warmer to the touch than he had expected.

“Ouch.” He stared at the cut finger with a drop of his blood falling on the vines on the mirror. The vines started moving and twisting up the mirror, like it was growing. It flashed and Evune ran around it, deeper into the camp, watching behind him to see the guards shouting at the flashing mirror. His hand reached the outer makeshift fort wall when a hand grabbed at his shoulder.

“I’m sure you have a good reason for being here.”

Evune swiveled around to find the Black Divine standing in front of him wearing his robes sans hat. "Yet, you're always in the dark hooded by light."

The Black Divine may have grinned in manner not unlike a skeleton but he blamed the flickering of light. "Rather true of my position. Even more of yours, animals especially."

"You and Elvia--" Evune started before the Divine gave him a look, a heavy-handed deep stare.

"I only mean to say like a predator, a hunter, like your people are expected to be. But you're no owl, are you?"

Evune countered, seeing the slight, once again, for what it was, an insult against his people, “Someone wants me dead.”

"And so you feign prey? I doubt it is your death that matters.” The older man said with his aged voice crisp with wariness. “It is more likely that your death will propel another to react.”

“So you say.” Evune said distastefully. “You all may have survived the Qunari but for how long after all my people are dead--these predator animals.”

“Had you the opportunity, how would you proceed?”

The wind warbled in the air and the Black Divine stared in curiosity. It was a question he thought to himself many, many times. “They fear magic like a plague. But it is not the magic itself they fear it’s the disorder and disorganization. I would create chaos within their ranks. Embed false rumors and weaken their trust in the Qun itself. It isn't perfect. It has a weakness.”

“As do all things.” The Black Divine hummed in agreement. "It is a clever thought. Smarter than brute force. Although, what do we gain from winning the war?”

"Peace." Evune said, assuredly.

"There is already peace in Tevinter. This war is nothing but a forgotten thought to most." The Black Divine said with sweeping gesture. "The only war on our minds is the war of belief. Who do you imagine is right?"

Evune heard the sound of rustling and footsteps around the corner of the makeshift fort walls. The quizzical expression on his face fell to resignation. “You’re not going to let me in.”

“It would be best if you returned to camp. Your safety isn’t exactly in my purview.” He tilted his head and turned in the opposite direction.

 

* * *

 

The Hole member's camp was up a hill surrounded by jagged rocks and thick foliage—hidden from sight. During the day, several footmen paced the camp on the lookout for Qunari and Evune counted the number of footsteps to the number of footmen. Four more footmen were pacing the camp today than yesterday. Not that he could trust his memory right now. He hadn’t slept at all in-between last night and this morning.

 Evune closed his eyes and tried to remember where the nearest Qunari settlement was. The nearest Qunari settlement had to be miles away from Manvheraan. They were entrenched in Tevinter territory. There shouldn’t be anything to worry about. Yet he knew that if he was forced to trust the words of Tevinters that he was already in trouble. Evune shook his head. Their tents were camouflaged from a distance too—on the outside. It was unlikely the Qunari would see them before the guards saw them first. He wondered if Davan would be upset if he mapped the places his men have already checked.

On the inside, the tents came in doubles, so although they each had their own tent, they also shared close quarters with one other. Evune’s shared space partner was Yasu. He glanced over at Yasu’s open divider and empty tent. He hadn’t seen Yasu since the previous day.

Each tent had a wooden makeshift desk and a metal extendable bed. Their tents came sterile with their insides white, their bedding white, their pillows white, and the chairs a pale white. On his desk, papers were scattered all over. Scribble marks and half-filled out sheets with rolled up and scratched-out sheets of paper on the ground. He had gone through six ink wells and still he hadn’t finished half the book. Evune raised his hands above his shoulder and stretched out his arms. He rubbed his neck and felt the coolness of the ink left on his fingers smear. He was too tired to worry about it. No, from what little he read of the booklet, there was much more to think about. The pages discussed early Arlathan and regaled much of the same stories his mother and father told him. Fen'harel killed Mythal. The Pantheon fell. The gods disappeared. His people warred over the remains. The only strange thing about these writings is the absence of Dragon Fire. In fact, Evunial, the great Dragon Tamer, made no appearance at all in these writings. He dropped the quill back in the inkwell and leaned back in his chair. Their history had thousands of interpretations and his father's was only one of the many. For all he knew, Evunial may not have ever existed. Fitting, really.

At the reminder of his father, Davan informed him that there had been no sign of him. No dead body. No clothing. His mother had already presumed him dead. Evune was starting to believe that he was dead. He wiped a sore hand against his dry eyes and picked up the quill again. He kept on writing and editing, writing and editing, until he reached a phrase he couldn’t translate.

“Avise Shalasha.”

_Flame of Armor? The tongue of a fire shield? Really hot weapons?_

“The Hand of Thoth.”

Evune turned a tired head to Arnarel. “Is that its only _other_ name?”

“No, it has hundreds.”

Evune groaned and his head dropped on the desk with a loud thwack. Well, at least he found it. 

“Knight-Captain! Knight-Captain!”

Evune and Arnarel turned to outside of the tent. They shared a look before leaving the tent to find Davan and Nanterius in front of a messenger sweating profusely. He didn’t see any of the other members of the Hole. Not even Marcella. The messenger panted, trying to gather his breath. “Knight-Captain—

Magister Nanterius snapped. “Get on with it.”

“There are two Qunari, they wish to speak with you in regards to the elf we’re looking for.” The messenger gulped air in-between each word.

Davan gestured to the messenger and they both went inside his tent, while Magister Nanterius shared a look with Evune over the group of people before going across camp as if to command Evune to follow. He broke from Arnarel’s side and sped towards her tent. When he reached it, two guards blocked the entrance.

“Evunial?” The guard said.

He nodded and the two guards allowed him to enter.

Warmth and coziness smacked him in the face at the entrance. A divider was lifted up to block out the gold and crystalline seating room they had been in last time and the room transformed overnight. Magister Nanterius sat at her dinner table with loaves of fresh bread, the smell of buttery crumbs in the air, and nug chops right out the oven. Two plates and water-filled cups, one on either side, were placed. She gestured to the unused seat. “Sit down.”

Evune grabbed the chair warily. “What do you want?”

“I never do business  _during_ dinner. Besides, I hear this was popular in your village.” Nanterius began to cut into her piece and cutting it into smaller pieces before popping one in her mouth. “Spices from home seem to mesh well with this as well. Try it.”

Something hovered in the air as he picked up the utensils. He felt tense as if an animal was in the room with them, readying to pounce.  Carefully, he began cutting into the meat while peering out the corners of his eyes and searching the tent. Davan wasn't here. His thoughts had wriggled in so thoroughly that when his plate his the bottom, he was surprised.

Nanterius dabbed a napking against the corners of her mouth. “It was surprisingly good.”

“Tevinter food was good at one point, I'm sure."

Nanterius’ mouth quivered as if she was holding back a smile. “It takes time to get used to it.”

“And how would you know?" 

She stood up, picked up her plate, and then reached for his. “I was raised closer to Val Dorma--the equivalent of an agricultural town. Food was always fresh, much like this. Inner city food, though, has a sharp bite to it. A stored-type of flavor.”

Evune sighed and pressed a hand against his temple. “You're going to draw this out, aren't you?”

"Time is all anyone has. Young people forget that.”

As Nanterius placed her dishes in a hot bucket of water, Evune tapped his fingers against the table. He had never been a paranoid person. He was never one for worrying—that was a job he left to Carin-the-one-he-thought-he-knew. But, several things in her tent stood out to him. The bucket was steaming warm still, the food was already set at the table when he arrived, the guards were expecting him, and she even chose his favorite meals. Or, what he knew his mother told them they were. He never told her about the nug and the braised nug meat wafting into his nose made him nauseous and that it made him anxious. His jittering nerves  increased in the silence of her cleaning the dishes and being so mundane. The smell of fresh water floated in the air. A smell that he was quickly associating with Davan. “Davan and you must've had a long conversation.” He sipped his cup before removing his hands from the table.

Nanterius smiled. “We heard word of an elven mage before we sent you all out for trials.” She walked back to her seat and crossed her fingers. “We found out that the Qunari are looking for one of their deserters and they in turn found out, quite recently, that we are looking for a missing Dalish. They wish for us to make a trade. It wasn’t an  _easy_ choice but it was certainly the right one. You understand.”

“Do you even know if it’s her?”

“Arnarel has already checked.”

Then, he remembered Arnarel’s entrance to his tent. When he had turned around to see Arnarel, he had been looking away from Evune. He had been looking for Yasu.  “Wouldn’t the Archon be offended that you've removed one of his—”

“Yasu is merely a filler. In fact, his appearance was highly suspect and unprecedented since the start.” Nanterius replied. “Either way, Consort Elvia is the overseer. She makes the final decision. And I promise you, she cares even less than I do.”

Evune nodded in resignation. An elven Qunari, likely born and raised, but Yasu was explicitly free and overt. Still. “I want to go with him. He shouldn’t be alone.”

Nanterius kicked her chair in the haste of her jumping out her chair. “Absolutely not. You will stay here until the trade is done. You’ll put thoughts in his head that we don’t need.”

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll sneak out on my own. Even after the trade is done.”

“You would die if you did that, like the child you are.”

Evune smiled. “Do you think I’m afraid of death? My village is gone. My sister clans massacred. My best friend dead. My mother may only have a few years left. Tell me, why should I bother?”

Nanterius’ eyes tightened. “We’ll hold you here until we’re done with you.”

“I could just as easily lie. Maybe I won’t do anything at all.” Evune stood up. "You need me as much as I need you."

Nanterius shouted. “Guards!”

Four footmen walked in. They took up the entrance to the tent all on their own.

“But,” Evune said, he walked around the table and leaned back against it. “If you let me go when they do the trade, I’ll come back as promised. I don't want him to go alone.”

“Just like that?”

Evune crossed his arms. “Just like that.”

“Fine.” Nanterius waved off the guards and the four footmen marched out. She turned back to Evune. “You used your one get out free pass on a chance. I hope it was worth it.”

_Me too. Me too._

  

                                                                           

* * *

 

 

The sound of bugs twittering in the night and the splashing of water broke the otherwise quiet forest. The thick humidity dying once again as the moon raised in the sky, Evune’s bare feet sucked into the mud and was pulled out with a loud _sploot_. Evune packed only a few things in his tote waiting for the one guard leading as his guide to the Qunari's meeting place.

The guard who had originally planned to go bailed as soon as he realized it was Evune. This was the same guard from the showers who "lost" him. He hadn't known the man had been reprimanded for losing him. He felt guilty for it. This was until he found out Davan was his replacement. The Knight-Captain outright refused to speak to him when they first left the camp. With his temper, he wasn't sure Davan should be holding the thick rope that was pulling Yasu’s arms tight. The first hours of the travel were silent.

Davan broke first. "I knew you were stubborn, but  _this_ stubborn after what happened with the clans."

"I am not  _afraid_ of the Qunari. I was afraid for my people." Evune corrected. His feet itchy and dry because of the mud made the trip all the worse as Davan went quiet again.

"Not something I would say." Yasu spoke up. He yanked on the rope as if to test the strength of Davan's hold. The Knight-Captain's hold didn't budge an inch. "They're going to kill me."

"No, they won't." Davan countered. "They brainwash." 

"Most don't know the difference." Yasu tried twisting around to face them but Davan snapped the rope back straight. They traversed over winding thick roots swimming in and out of the dirt.

Davan hissed, “I do." 

“Geez,” Yasu grumbled. “No need to be an ass.”

Evune quickened his pace to stand beside Davan, who still pointedly ignored him. “I had to do it.” Davan made a noiseless gesture with his hands clenching and unclenching against the rope. Evune lowered his voice. “I have to try. This isn’t like Carin. This isn’t justice.”

“Would that make it right if it was?” Davan asked blandly. “Can you ever know what’s wrong and what’s right?”

“Is there no way I can convince you two to let me go?”

Evune opened his mouth but Davan interrupted again, "Where would you go, Yasu? Do you know of any other country? Of other work?"

Yasu fell silent.

"Exactly."

"You're not being fair." Evune argued. "The Qun tells them who is supposed to do what. If he  _hates_ his work, the Qun is wrong."

"Not our problem."

True. Evune conceded. "I want to convince them to give him another chance."

"It won't work."

Both Yasu and Davan spoke, both equally as wary as one was frustrated.

"It's not that simple. People aren't that simple. It's why the Qun won't always work but neither will anything else. There's no certainty.” What should've been a conversation on helping Yasu, it ended up being one of morality.

Carin was wrong for her selfishness but selfishness wasn't bad. Desiring happiness is only wrong at the cost of others but what if these others are torturers and thieves? Davan wasn't innocent but what value was innocence? Elvia was more innocent than Evune in the matters of physical murder but was keeping your hands clean truly righteous? The individual versus the whole, in what world was that world other than in the Qun? He certainly wasn't a good man but a bad one?

People were not so simple, but it could not be left at that. Something has to be done after.

"He admitted there was another faction."

Their footsteps and the sploshing of Evune’s feet fell again. The bugs quieted.

"So you read the recordings." Davan sighed. "This is not the time to--"

"Yasu, are there broken factions in Qunandar?"

"There's only the three heads." Yasu said dryly. "The Arishok. Arigena. Ariqun."

"But," Evune pressed, "If there were others."

"There are no others! There is only the Qun. Honor. Community. And bullshit." Yasu hunched forward, appearing small,  "I'm done talking."

Davan stopped and looked up at the sky.  “We’re here.”

Two large figures appeared in the moonlight. Their shadows up against the tree with their horns first, wisps of hair second, and their armor’s outlines appearing last. When the actual Qunari appeared, Evune had to resist the instinctual reaction to run.

“Is this the deserter?” one of them spoke. The black armor plates covering their chest were thick and imposing. Their voice burred in the quiet of the night.

Before Davan could speak, Evune pushed forward. “I wish to speak to your general, your leader.” He let his adrenaline push him through. There was no time for fear like Waonui. He could help Yasu.

The other Qunari growled, “Who are you to demand anything?”

Evune had to grasp at the few things--few _positive_ things--he knew of Qunari and the few things he had ever heard Yasu speak.

_Honor. Community._

“My clan was attacked dishonorably. And so was my sister clans.” Evune shared a look with Davan. Davan’s expression was as close to furious as Evune had ever seen. He had a feeling that he was either onto something or completely off course. “They were chained up and ready for imprisonment by Tevinter when some were killed and slaughtered unrighteously. I wish to speak to your leader and discuss this.”

The two Qunari began speaking to each other in Qunlat. “Fine, but your Templar friend cannot come.”

He turned to Davan's utterly still stance. Davan's eyes, cheeks, brows, none of his expression changed. “Davan—

“You can’t ask me to do that.” Davan seethed, his face like shattered glass, with this new expression on his face. “This is more than you and me. This jeopardizes everything.”

Evune breathed slowly. “ _Trust_ me.”

“You do not get how difficult that truly is.” Davan squeezed out a coarse sound and then exhaled when Evune dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder. He clasped Evune’s hand tight handing off Yasu's rope. “Promise me. Be careful.”

“I won’t mess this up.”

As soon as Evune turned to leave, Davan flung his hand out and caught Evune's wrist.  “I’m talking about you. _Be careful_.”

"I will."

 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Full-on sexual content. It ends right before the following chapter break.

 

 

“I hate the forest.” Yasu said as Evune kept to his promised silence. He raised his eyes up to the stars and Evune didn't see resignation in his eyes like he expected. "Smells like dirt."

"How many times have you run away?"

Yasu twisted his mouth. "Since joining the beresaad, never, but, when I was small, every day."

One of the Qunari huff beside them as if holding himself back from speaking.

The air was musky with the scent of pollen and mud. The thick foliage of the trees near their camp was gone and replaced with tall trees, limp leaves. Heavy with tension and the burdened air in their chest, Evune felt the prickles of trepidation. They were trusting the Qunari not to slaughter them all.

 “You’re doing well for yourself. Being the Archon’s slave won’t be so bad. You got his brother tamed already. Smart thinking.”

Evune bit back a retort. He had to count back from ten to calm himself.

“I don’t know why I thought you would be a better person than me or even Marcella. You know,you walk around and you get lucky a few times. Some reason they all decided to give  _you_ a chance."

“Yasu, you’re going to regret—

“Regret!” Yasu laughed. “What is regret? I never even had a chance! I'm a resource, kid.”

“Silence, Tal-Vashoth.” One of the Qunari spit out.

Yasu winced but silenced too.

They reached a small clearing with a makeshift camp. Around the fire pit were several sleeping bags and blankets.

At the camp there were at least eight other Qunari. Most of the Qunari were armored like the two who led him. But, one of them did not wear the helmet and his armor was slightly different than the rest. An axe peeked over his shoulder and Evune had to stifle any outward reaction. The leader’s hair was white like the others, had horns like the others, but he held himself differently, loosely. There was no tautness in his shoulders, no worry, he seemed utterly at peace with his place in the middle of the forest of Seheron near Tevinter land. The other Qunari tilted their head in respect and crowded around him as he stood up to greet them but his countenance was no longer peaceful.

The leader demanded. “Why did you bring the elf?”

The Qunari who argued with him earlier spoke, “He states that we dishonorably attacked his clan.”

“Is there truth to his claim?”

The Qunari frowned. “We believe so, but this deserter is the only one who may know.”

The leader snarled. “Tal-Vashoth, speak!” The disquieted peeps of insects and underfoot creatures scurrying silenced. All eyes fell on Yasu.

Yasu made no movement, no gesture to move, and said nothing.

Evune whispered, “Yasu.”

“I didn’t attack them.” Yasu said. He tugged at the rope and hung his head.  “I didn’t stop them either. I ran away.”

“You dishonor the Qun and your comrades.” One Qunari soldier hissed.

“My _comrades_ panicked at the sight of demons and abandoned their post.” Yasu snarled back. “I ran to avoid their senseless slaughter.”

Before the Qunari could argue again, the leader raised his hand. “Are you the only one left of your beresaad?”

Yasu stiffly nodded.

“Then you will explain your mistakes to the Kithshok.”

Evune rushed forward and was immediately blocked by a large body. “There is more to discuss. One of your people, a human by the name of Winston and Viktor used a blood mage to--”

"Lies." The Qunari leader walked forward, a few feet taller than Evune, the other large body moved out the way, "I know the name of every body in this antaam."

Evune cleared his throat. “Respectfully, I have to disagree. There's a clan called Waonui who is under your rule but they're not like you. Not that I want them to be, but--

"Spit it out, bas."

"I have the copies of the spies admittances. Do with it what you will." Evune pulled out from his sleeves a stack of papers. He had copied the conversations blocking out any information related to the Imperium. "I came here for the elf mage. This is only a white flag of-of-of friendship.” As soon as the word rolled of his lips, he heard Yasu stifle a laugh. Friendship was not the word he wanted to use.

The Qunari leader huffed and then gestured to the other Qunari beside him. One snatched the stack of papers out from his hand, while a thickly weaved rope tied to a tree was unhooked by another. It lowered a wooden cage from the highest branches down to the ground. The cage was barely large enough to hold the elven mage with its handmade wooden gates. They would have never found her with her brown hair like a bird’s nest and her tunic a dark black with brown leather linings, she fit in perfectly with the forest surroundings.

“You will not release the mage until we have left.” The Qunari leader hissed. “Let the curses be upon you and our debts repayed.”

As the Qunari turned to leave, pulling Yasu by the rope end, Evune threw out his hands. “Is there a way I can earn Yasu, as my debtor?”

The Qunari leader frowned. “You are not of the Qun. You cannot earn anything and you test my patience.”

“There must be something. A test or—

The nearest Qunari swung his sword and the Qunari leader snarled, freezing the other Qunari in his place, as Evune snapped his eyes closed readying for death. The sword fell to the ground and not in Evune's neck, thankfully. “Fine, if you cannot figure out the answer I will execute you, the mage, and the traitor.” the leader huffed and then pulled his axe from his back. Evune swallowed harshly before the Qunari leader spoke again, “Do you accept?"

"Kid, don't--

"Yes," Evune cut in. Yasu, for all his complaints, may not want to come back. He had to keep in mind that this was about Yasu and not him. But he had to try first.

"Here is a riddle: solve it.” The Qunari leader opened his hand and the axe plummeted to the dirt. It dented the ground and dirt particles flew in the air with the bitter scent of wet clay. Evune walked around the weapon—shimmering silver with engraved wings in the pommel and sharp curves for blades. He knew there was no way for him to pick it up. He squatted in front of the axe but still made no motion to pick it up.

“Can I get a hint?”

“No.”

The axe had no words on it. It was literally only an axe. A joke maybe? "What is the riddle?"

The leader snorted. "Solve it."

"Yes," Evune said blithely, "I solve a riddle but it has to have a question to have an answer." He couldn’t lift up the axe and the Qunari leader knew this--the hulking shoulders that dropped the weapon to the ground. This was a test of mind, perhaps, not of mettle but Evune didn’t understand it. What was he testing him on?

“You waste my time, bas.”

"I'm trying." Evune squeezed out as he walked around the axe again, thinking.

“A disgrace. You were not educated but will be as all will be.” The leader’s mouth twitched, perhaps in humor. “You should take it as an insult. Both of you.”

Yasu interrupted his thoughts. “You can’t win the test. It’s made to fail.”

The Qunari holding his rope yanked back and Yasu fell to his knees in the dirt. “Shut your mouth.” He hissed.

He was going to die. He knew it. He'd killed them in his want to do more, better--he didn't know anymore. Frustrated at himself, Evune reached over to touch the axe when his hand froze. The axe was hot and burning the air around it before he could grasp at its pommel. It's energy at its tip zapped at his finger but it didn't hurt. There was no magic. It felt different like something that couldn't confine space, it felt like the Fade, spirit and soul. His fingers trembled above the weapon and the heat trailed up to the Qunari leader like a woven string. Evune glanced over at the other Qunari, all with weapons on their side or on their backs. Each were distinct, whether it be a pommel or a handle, golden, silver, or flat and used, they were individualistic for being own by Qunari.

"Yasu," Evune asked, "Where is your weapon?" He didn't move his hand from above the axe. The burning heat fell lax and into warmth tickling at his fingertips. 

"I was never given one." 

These weapons for the soldiers gave them purpose like a scholar a book, or a merchant his stand and the sadness was palpable like smog because he knew the answer. The Qun is about souls.

"I can't lift it. ” As the words fell out of his mouth, Evune wanted to take it all back in. He had no idea what he actually said. It made sense up until the thoughts turned to actual words, "This has nothing to do with Yasu, though, does it? This is to prove that I can't be Qunari. I didn't know that was up for questioning."

The Qunari leader was going to kill him. And then Yasu. Maybe the mage will get away but he wasn’t too sure about that.

“Answered like a true bas.” The leader said. He crossed his arms and his gaze, smoldering like heat and mountains, broke Evune's. “You attain no greater purpose than the one in front of you.” He sounded disappointed.

Evune clenched his fists. The leader was starting to piss him off. “Tell me then, what is my greater purpose?”

“We all have a greater purpose." The question caught him off-guard, or about as off-guard as a Qunari will express, when his gaze met his again only to pull away, like a mistake. "If you do not know it by now, then you have truly wasted our time. Kill them.”

The Qunari nearest to them, almost gleefully, charged forward and Evune tilted his head forward. He wasn't going to fight it. Clutching his hands at his side, he stood still when the mousey-haired mage in the cage picked up a branch and began banging it against the wooden bars. She gained the attention of the Qunari and then shouted, “If that’s the case, why are you punishing your brethren?” Evune tried to motion her to be quiet but it was too late.

A Qunari spit out. “Did you not hear, saarebas? You are lucky we did not cut out your tongue and sew your mouth shut.” 

“He ran away,” the elven mage said as she pushed her face as close to the cage bars as possible, “because you  _all_  made those men soldiers. Men who weren’t worthy. If this was his purpose, if this was _their_ purpose, why did this happen? People are dead not because of the Qun, but because the Qun messed up!”

“Shut your—

The Qunari leader cut in, “Silence!”

The arguing Qunari quieted even as his shoulders pulled back in anger and his teeth unfurled.

The Qunari leader turned to Yasu. “Explain to us, why did you run away? Where is you sword?”

Yasu said nothing at first. He only tossed looks in the direction of Evune and Deshanna. “I would’ve died. I’m good enough as a soldier to fight but no good in a large battle. And they told me none of the swords--I didn't--I don't have one.”

“You see that!” Deshanna shouted. “You all gave him the _wrong_ purpose and now you plan to punish him. Now, who’s the bas?”

Evune was pretty sure Deshanna was going to get them all killed, but he had to admit that she had great style and a great death wish. How was she from Arnarel's clan again?

"The Qun never fails, but there has been a mistake. No one in the beresaad does not have a sword." The Qunari leader hummed, a throaty deep vibrating sound that felt more threatening than thoughtful. “He will still meet the Viddasala, but, he will not be executed or brought back to the Antaam. He will be repurposed. I will make sure of it.”

“I would really much rather be a baker. Or a merchant.” Yasu added.

The Qunari leader huffed but made no acknowledgment of Yasu’s words. And then, Yasu was gone. Evune wasn’t sure he could call him a friend but the word _felt_ right. The Qunari leader's eyes slit into his own and then twisted around. Perhaps Yasu was in good hands now.

The Qunari leader gestured towards his men to move back through the forest--one by one they disappeared. "Be lucky, elf, that you survived this day."

"Why?" Evune pressed and he felt a small pebble smack him in the shoulder with the whisper, "Idiot." behind him.

The Qunari's teeth unfurled, less angry and more irritated, "You knew the answer, elf." 

                                                                   

 

* * *

  

 

The forest flooring had dried by the morning. Somewhere in-between the time the Qunari had left and before the sunrise, Evune let Deshanna free. Instead of rushing straight back to the camp, they sat out and watched the sky. Neither of them were in a hurry to go.

"If the Qun is about souls, why act like soulless assflies?" Deshanna asked. Evune had a feeling she didn't want an answer so much as free will to insult the Qunari again.

"I don't know. It would make sense but the Waonui--

"It doesn't fit their behavior."

Evune dropped forward and groaned. "There's something there. I know it but I can't see it."

"Join the club."

“Is it weird if I ask you--?" Deshanna was nothing like he had imagined. An elf with a scowl or one of those quiet, clever Dalish mages who had a fact to speak every minute that past by. She was slightly shorter than him and so mousy that he was sure she was caged for far longer than a few days. She reared around and he winced, thinking she would lash out at him like a wild cat. Arnarel was about as nervous as he had ever seen when she was discussed or angry. Arnarel simply felt his emotions deeply--deep enough that no one could even see it.

"I don't know, _kid_. Why don't you ask?" Deshanna countered. "Don't be a bitch."

Evune blinked. He had never heard that word. "You and Arnarel are like—

“Were.” Deshanna said. She held her knees close to her chest watching the starried night disappear as the orange and red spread across the sky like an opening hand. “Have you ever had to deal with the consequences of your mistakes and realize it wasn’t worth it? Sucks ass.”

“I don’t know.” Evune said. He slid his arm back in forth in the grass as the cool blades against his back kept him grounded. “Soon. Probably.”

"That's how I know you're a kid." Deshanna dusted the leaves that stuck to her leggings off and then outstretched her hand. “You will. No rush."

“You say that but whatever happened to him, Arnarel has got a stick so far up his ass he—

“He’s that bad now?” Deshanna chuckled. "Acting like a hahren already." Evune took her hand and was pulled up. “He has a reason. He should be the one to tell you why."

"The Hand of Thoth?"

Deshanna pulled Evune closer, close enough that when she lowered her voice to a near whisper, Evune could still hear her. “We can’t let them have it. You must know that. Tevinter cannot have that power.”

Evune pulled away. “This is the only reason we’re here. Even Arnarel is helping us find it. I thought that's why we have you.”

“Ah, no.” Deshanna sighed. “Arnarel is what you call stubbornly goal-oriented. He needs things to do. They could've told him to find a long lost dwarven cave and I half-believe he would've tried."

“You and Arnarel could run away together.”

For all of Deshanna’s fast-talking and ease in insulting several Qunari at the same time—the same ones who had captured her in the first place, no less—she twisted her mouth at the question. She said nothing.

Deshanna swayed on the heels of her feet and then asked, “So, how’d you get your hair so white? Fog Warriors must dye their hair white now too.”

Evune blinked. “It was always white. I was born with it.”

“No, seriously,” Deshanna waved her hand, “Seriously? You didn’t dye it.”

“My mother told me our ancestors had white hair.” He shrugged. “Never thought it was a big deal. They were all famous hunters and educators or something.”

“I heard those born with silver hair are the last hints of the People struggling in our bloodlines to escape.” Deshanna said wistfully. “They say they’re the only ones who can control the Isenathare Syl.”

“Dragon Fire.” Evune tilted his head. “I didn’t know the Dalish knew those stories.”

Deshanna rolled her eyes and sighed in an over-exaggerated manner. “This is why you went out searching for me. I should know these things.”

Evune's expression went blank.

Deshanna finished. “Dragon Fire is just another name for the Hand of Thoth. It has a few hundred other names but that’s one of its more common ones.”

A small thought fell in the nook and crannies of his mind before he shook it off. It was highly unlikely that his family--that he had--it was just impossible either way. Both didn't exist. What would he do now? “Either way, I can’t even shoot an arrow straight. No great power from me.”

“Really? It _must_ be a myth then.” Deshanna grinned. She crouched on one knee and pressed her hand to the ground. Twigs and twining thin branches twisted together until it formed the shape of a piece of wood. She searched the ground and then reached for the nearest leaf and stripped it of its transparent outlines, the very fibers, and then hand-spun several of them into one wire. She wrapped the edges of the wire to the edges of the branch until it bent into a forced u-shape. She handed it to Evune.

“No.” He waved his hands, shaking his head. “I can’t do it.”

Deshanna smirked. She twirled her hand and a small bush with several arrow-shaped branches appeared beside them. “Before we go back, you’re going to shoot an arrow straight, even if it kills me.”

Thirty arrows and a whole bush later, the sun had finally risen in the sky. And Davan would send footmen soon. In all that time, Deshanna had him aiming at a sole leaf sticking out the side of a tree a distance ahead of them. It was insane. Evune knew he was never going to make it when he couldn’t even shoot a ribbon half the distance of this leaf.

“You’re not focusing, Evune.”

Evune gritted his teeth. He yanked an arrow branch from the bush and pulled it taut in the bow.

“What do you think of when you’re aiming?”

“Of hitting the stupid mark.”

Deshanna sighed. “While you aim, I want you to ignore the outside noise, the chatter, and focus on a straight line of vision. As you focus, let the rest consume you. You have to be willing to be both blind and overwhelmed, because all that matters is that you want it and what you’re ready to do to get it.”

He didn’t reply that her help wasn’t helpful. Still, he tried to listen. He held his breath. The birds in the trees above him chirped and the creatures underfoot running through brush slowed. He snapped his fingers to the arrow and then let it rush through him as the arrow soared in the air.

It struck the leaf.

Evune stood still. His hand still up in the air in the motion of letting the arrow free.

“Well, you didn’t hit the center but close enough.” Deshanna shook her head. “We should start heading back.”

"But--

"Your dad was a hahren, right?" Deshanna asked, carefully. She tilted her head up. "Focusing is like the first thing you do when training." She shrugged. 

Evune loosened his grip on the bow. "He just told me to shoot."

Deshanna's brows furrowed before she knocked against her temple with her knuckles. "Well, it must've been so easy for him that it was all he needed to know."

"Yeah." But the words sounded as false out loud as they did in his head. Did his father purposefully not train him?

No.

He watched as Deshanna began traveling down the trail towards the camp. He closed his fist and opened his palm to stare at the scars littering his fingers. The hundreds of old ones from when he started practicing over eight seasons ago and even the new ones from when he started up again after giving up.

When everything ends, _what_ would he want?

He pulled the bow over his head and hung it over his shoulders. He tucked as many arrows as he could in-between his tunic and his tunic belt. He sped up his pace and caught up to Deshanna.

 

 

 

 

 

_12 th day of Matrinalis_

His mother had given him the journal to record the experiences he gained. He knew his mother had never known the trouble he would get himself into. But he wrote down his fight with the water beast, his weakness against the rage demon, and even the undecided success or failure of saving Yasu.

The quill scratched against the thick paper of the journal and he had to have written for quite a while if the buzz and hum of conversation outside his tent from when Arnarel and Deshanna finally met again to the heavy footsteps of Davan’s angered posing had lulled into a midday calm. Davan still refuses to speak to him. The other members of the Hole were undecided, once again, on his character. In this case, he found that he no longer cared what they thought of him now that his sense of vigor and purpose renewed.

He did not believe in destiny. He did not believe in the higher order of the world that led him here. There was no purpose in Carin’s deception or his father’s death. There was no higher attainment in their death.  He had to protect his village—what remained of it—and his mother. He would even help the members of the Hole find freedom because he would find his own freedom even if it killed him.

He had to stay focused.

“Sir.” A footmen called from outside the tent. “Magister Nanterius wishes to speak with you. And, you have a missive.”

Evune tied up his journal and placed it back beneath his tunic. He outstretched his hands, believing the missive to be only one of few people. The handwriting was unfamiliar. 

It said:

**Katari.**

**You have been named.**

**We will meet again.**

 

It must've been the exhaustion thinking, but, the energy off the letter felt familiar. It stung his finger and he dropped it to the floor with the footmen quickly turning around, exiting the tent. He clenched and unclenched his hand looking at the scars and grooves along his hands. Something inside of him didn't feel right. He felt as if something else was flowing through his blood and twisting in his chest that wasn't there before.

 

 

Nanterius was already sitting in her decadent seating room reading a novel on her settee. She made no motion to stop when he sat at the chair nearest to her.

“Your villagers have been relocated to another area. They have been given full access and protection by Tevinter caches until they can stand on their own while they recover.” Nanterius tucked a slip of cloth in-between the pages of her book before placing it on the table. She sighed heavily and faced him. “There is something you must be made aware of though.”

He was more than a little surprised. He only asked for better holding cells. But to be freed altogether? “The pages haven’t been translated yet. I’m halfway—

“That isn’t what concerns me right now.” Nanterius rubbed a hand against her throat before breaking eye contact. “Have you ever wondered what you would do after everything?”

“I want to be free. I want my clansmen and my mother to return home.”

“Right.” Nanterius said slowly.

Evune blew out his cheeks. “Are you proposing something else? I think we’re past requests now.”

“This isn’t easy. I know this will be hard for you to hear.” Nanterius tilted her head and then she folded her hands in her lap. She exhaled a sharp breath. “The Antivan Crows came here for one of our Templars and got whiff of another—

“Davan,” Evune jumped up, “is he—

“No. No,” Nanterius lifted her glasses and rubbed her eyes, “you have to understand. They honor their contracts no matter how long it takes, no matter how old it is. It’s some code they’ve created.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Listen.” Nanterius clapped her hands together and then pressed it outward as she exhaled again. “Your mother was killed last night.”

His stomach turned over and the acrid taste of acid hit his throat. He gritted his teeth. “What happened?”

“We were—

Her words warbled into voiceless beats in the air. The meanings of the words lost their intent, their sounds, and he winced as each added pause at the end of a sentence were like screws tightening in his chest.

“I’m going to finish translating.”

“There’s more.”

He breathed heavily and erratically in the silence. Evune broke out. “I can’t handle more.”

 “She had this in her hand.” She pulled out from a velvet pouch a torn red ribbon. “Tonight we will have to speak but, for now, handle your business.”

His head jerked up as if pulled by a cord and he shoved through the tent opening with the ribbon in hand. He sped down the hill and spun past the trees, snatching up his bow and arrows. His eyes caught Keela’s. She was the only one in the camp. Her glance was scalding and full of hatred but he pushed that to the furthest parts of his mind.

His mother was dead. What was the point? He  _found_ the blood mage. Stopped Qunari. Found Arnarel's First. HE TRANSLATED THE NOTES! His fists were red from snatching the arrow and clenching the sharp end. He hadn't even felt it.

He skidded across the crushed leave panting in the thick heat. It was readying to shift from the hot temperatures to the cooler temperatures natural in Matrinalis. But _he_  wasn’t ready. He felt the heat flush through his veins as his feet hit the ground the farther and farther he ran until it started to rain. His feet lost traction and he slid across the wet leaves and grass stuck to the forest ground as he held still, sliding on the leaves until slipping to his knees.

Rain fell into his eyes.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there and he couldn’t be sure whether it was still raining when he tossed the bow and arrows to the ground. Taking a hard look at the bow and arrow, he shattered it against the tree. He crushed the back of the bow, relishing in the sound of the string snap, the wood crack in four different places. The arrow was less satisfying. It snapped in half and its end lodged in the tree.  He wiped at his eyes but more and more water kept falling into them. How could he have failed  _everyone_? Was this his punishment for naming himself?

_I'll give back my name. My bow. My training. Just give them back. Give me them back._

He cupped his hands over his brows when the rain stopped. His eyes lifted up to the sky and he could see the rain hitting against an invisible barrier when a voice spoke behind him.

“You infuriated me the other day. Sneaking into the fort.” Evune’s head dropped. It was the Archon and he started to laugh. His eyes avoiding the Archon’s gaze."I hadn't known it was that funny." The Archon swept around him with his long robes and triangular hat. He appeared to be alone. There were no guards and no footmen. 

His own hand shivered against his throat. A stray laugh pushed through. "I'm sorry. I--I won't do it again." Evune shoved it down--everything. The hilarity. The ridiculousness of everyone and everything that had happened. There was nothing to think about. There was nothing left, was there? "I'm on my way back to camp. Lost. I think."

The Archon shifted beside him and Evune, remembering the last time he spoke too much, stayed silent. He heard something hit the ground and he flinched but made no other movement. The Archon laid his robe over Evune’s shoulders.

“Falon'din Lethanavir—Guide their feet, calm our soul, and lead them to their rest."

"A prayer won't bring them back." Evune grasped at the coat but before he could throw it, the Archon stood in front of him patting his hair dry meticulously and carefully. It was unlike the rough, albeit careful, hands of a smith. “Would you face me?”

“Am I given the choice?”

 “When we are alone, yes.” 

Evune twisted around. Cold had slithered into his bones, somehow. It was just the weather. It was just the air. The other man's clothing was gold and white with black fringes like spidery legs inching across his lower body and arms. Without the pretense of a smith, the Archon was well-dressed. He used his teeth to pull off his gloves and reached around Evune still drying his neck and hair.

“I can do it myself.” Evune said under his breath.

“I know. It seems you can do a great many things on your own. It may not seem that way, but you've done your best."

"Stop." Evune gritted his teeth. He leaned forward, "I don't want to be comforted." and tightened his hold on the heavy coat.

"Then I won't."

Their lips met and they pressed against each other, sliding, as if fighting with air, with breathing. He pulled away and pressed his lips along Evune’s neck as if to pull the very blood thrumming under his veins. He whispered in his ear, “Tarsian is the name you can scream.”

He covered Evune’s groan with another deep kiss before yanking the robe off his shoulders and letting it slip to the ground. He pressed his fingers into Evune’s hips, thumbs above his lower stomach, grasping at his belt and unbuckling it. It pinched at Evune's side and for a moment it drew him back into reality with an exhale. They lowered on the robe. His body on Evune's, chest on chest, staring, panting with his hands clutching the cloth above Evune’s shoulders. Tarsian lifted up a hand and tugged at Evune’s braids as he dipped into another kiss, deeper and deeper. Their tongues twisted and lips meshed together. He pulled Evune’s leg around him and pressed themselves even closer until they could feel their heat as one.  He caught a gasp out from Evune’s brief exhale and then wrapped both hands around Evune as they contorted ever closer, even tighter.

"Ah, how are you already so loose?" He slipped in-between his skin, falling inside.

Evune cried. “Please. Please. Please.” clutching him tightly against his back.

Tarsian covered his mouth again and pressed a finger in as Evune bent his back pushing down. Tarsian held him tight by the neck as he pressed another finger in and then another. He pulled the fingers back and then dug in, encircling his insides until he pulled them out. He slid his hands above Evune’s hips and dropped his head against his shoulder as he dragged himself inside inch by inch by inch until time felt excruciatingly slow, thrusting in and out, thickening and widening. His fingers deepened leaving indents and discolored marks on Evune’s waist as he thrust again and again as he grew even heavier, thicker, wider. They could feel sweat pull at their skin as their bodies grew tight and taut. Evune trembled at the stretch as Tarsian grasped at Evune’s hips, no longer able to get closer, time felt like it was running away. The pain was unbearable. The tightness and absence of space brought them so close it was as if one began where the other ended.

The end came over like a wave and for Evune it was like a never-ending singing in his veins that flew higher and higher, wrapped its notes like a noose and then loosened just in time to lower him back. His inner thighs soiled and wet, sweat pooling on his brows, Tarsian pulled the robe over them and wiped them off with a quick humming in his ear. He clutched Evune close and Evune let him.

He finally felt safe.

 

 

When they woke up, Tarsian’s warmth at his back was like a second coming. He could feel him shift behind him and flip his leg over his own. It tickled his toes but his laughter quickly turned into a groan as Tarsian pushed inside him again—the same welcoming thickness. He was quickly realizing that Tarsian had a fascination with his neck, his shoulders, and his collar, even his ears, as he left warm trails along them. He was gentle. He pressed a hand lower until he palmed between his hips, sliding his fingers as if there was no rush, as if they weren’t rubbing off in the middle of a forest.

“You are,” Tarsian muttered as if to himself rather than to Evune, “surprisingly beautiful for one so coarse.”

“You are,” Evune breathed and then whined as Tarsian held a tight grip, pulling and kneading, “surprisingly kind for one said to be ugly.”

Tarsian pressed another kiss against the back of his neck. “Ugly?”

Evune gasped. “Or not.” The thrusts, slow and easy, seemed like it took even less time than before when it was over.  Tarsian rocked against his ass, thrusting in one last time before he spilled inside him again.

They washed up in the river later. Tarsian whistled and after a short wait a Dracolisk, a lizard-like animal with scales for skin and fin-like claws on their head, galloped towards them with several side packages and pouches in its saddle. He pulled out a few bottles and tossed them to Evune as they bathed with powdery rocks and oils. The Dracolisk roamed up the upper hills in a chase with a small rodent.

“Your mount is horrifying.” Evune said as he rubbed the powdery rocks against his skin. The rocks sparkled and turned to bubbles rinsing off the dirt on his skin. “People should be more afraid of them than your mages.”

Tarsian laughed. “We do have appearances to keep. He’s also a good watchman. He guards the perimeters better than most footmen.”

 The oils slid against his skin like a leather smoother than halla and smoother than anything he had ever felt before. It smelled of Lavendar and sleep. He washed and re-braided his hair with his eyes closed, trying to remember exactly as his mother had taught him. His fingers barely trembling.

When he opened his eyes, Tarsian sat on the edge of the river and outstretched his hand. Evune took hold of it and Tarsian pulled him close with his legs wrapping around him.

“We’ve already been gone too long.” Evune said as Tarsian kissed behind his ear.

Tarsian hummed. “We will not be able to be this close for awhile yet. Let me enjoy you.” He pulled Evune to his lap and put Evune’s hands on his shoulders. Evune carefully lowered himself onto Tarsian’s thickness, groaning as he rolled his head back, until he bottomed out. Tarsian gasped, lifting Evune slightly and then lowering him again. Evune wrapped his arms around his neck and began riding up and down, pressing his lips to Tarsian’s as he filled him to the rim. The near dry heat and friction with the oil still dripping down his skin helped them slick and slide with ease.

Tarsian spoke against his throat, “They tell us the curse comes in threes. A wondrous curse you must be.” He pressed his lips against Evune’s chest and sucked kisses all along his chest as Evune sped up. It became too much and Tarsian gripped Evune ass, pushing and pulling faster and faster until this too ended.

Tarsian lifted up his robe from the ground and a ribbon fluttered to the ground. He picked it up and asked Evune, “Yours?”

He nodded.

Tarsian gestured to his own arm. “Could you?”

Evune plucked it from his hand and then tied it around Tarsian’s arm. “They do this for lovers in Rivaini, or so my father painted in his portraits of my great-grandparents.”

Tarsian clasped a hand on Evune’s. “So do they in Tevinter.”

 

                                                                           

* * *

 

 

 

They rode in on the back of the Dracolisk. Evune winced as the mount slowed down and traversed up the trail to the camp.

“I will have footmen leave oils in your tent for soreness.” The Archon muttered.

Evune nodded. He knew once they arrived in the camp they couldn’t act any differently than they had at Ath Velanis.

When they reached the camp in fact, Elvia was the one who greeted them in all her black-lace-like glory with yellow flowers in her sleeves. Evune slid from the horse and bowed his head forward. Consort Elvia strode past him, paying him no mind before confronting the Archon. “You are rather late, _husband_. The footmen were only told to attend to my safety and the mirror but had no way to impart your location.”

Her eyes bore searchingly into Archon Vesces’ but all the warmth and kindness of earlier were long gone. He answered, “One of the members of the Hole got lost in the storm. There was no reason to worry.”

“Oh,” Elvia said, her mouth forming the words slowly and almost treacherously. “We have much to do to find the Hand of Thoth. You can’t be wasting your time with the servants all day, now can you?”

“Indeed. It is best if we speak of this in private.” The Archon added tersely. “This is not a conversation to be had out in the open, is it?”

Elvia smiled. “Of course not.” She put out her hand, daintily, and the Archon held it in the air as they glided to Davan’s tent.

Evune turned away. He had a small, sick feeling tickle in his chest. He pressed against it as if it would ease the pressure.

He walked passed the table where all the members of Hole and Deshanna sat for breakfast, once again eating that fish and wheat gruel. The sound of wheels roughly sliding on rock drew him to the lower hill where footmen were pulling up a cart

Deshanna stood up and pounced in front of Evune. “You alright?”

Evune shook his head. “I need to speak with Nanterius.”

Marcella hissed. “That’s _Magister_ Nanterius to you.”

“Cool your claws, Vint.” Deshanna shot back. “The elves are talking.”

 “I need to be able to focus blind and overwhelmed.”

Deshanna blinked. “I was talking about shooting arrows.”

Evune mused, “I need a foundation. A starting point. We need to finish the trials. All of us. Together.”

Keela started laughing, nearly hysterically before she stood up from the table. “What makes you think you can do anything for any of us?

“All of us want something different.” Evune said carefully. His eyes drawing on Arnarel’s, Gheeran’s, Keela’s and even Marcella. “But we all know that this is just a means to an end. If none of us need to suffer, we shouldn’t have to.”

Keela twisted her mouth. “ Some of us still have things to lose like brothers, sisters, and children. We’re not Yasu where you can toss aside without repercussions.”

Gheeran snorted while Marcella sighed.

“I know,” Evune said, “I don’t want to put any of our wants, the people we care about in danger. I may not be able to do it now but I will do it.”

The whole table went silent for one beat before they broke out in laughter. Arnarel crossed his arms and tossed a look at Deshanna that Evune was unable to decipher.

“I’m going to keep us safe.” Evune said with a small smile. “You’re all I have left.”

He swiveled around and moved towards Nanterius’ tent. He heard Gheeran complain, “Can he really do that?” and took that as the tiniest of victories.

 

Nanterius gave a mirthless laugh.

Evune fidgeted on the chair and did nothing but guiltily stare at the crystal table. “I told you it was raining and we couldn’t get back to camp properly.”

“And that’s why you’re late. This is why you’ve been missing all through the night and most of the morning when the rain shower ending quite close to when it began. Do you think any one of us is an idiot?”

Evune looked away.

Nanterius made a steeple of her hands. She breathed deeply. “This is not entirely bad. I was going to review preventative measures to stop you from getting yourself murdered on the spot. Of course, you end up doing the opposite.”

“I didn’t plan—

Nanterius waved her hand. “I am too kaffing old to care. It only matters if the Archon refuses to allow you to do the same dangerous—

“It’s not up to him.” Evune cut in. “I want to find the Hand of Thoth. I _will_ find the Hand of Thoth.”

“Well,” Nanterius said dryly, “at least you’re excited. Unfortunately, it does matter. You have no power. No magister support--I don't count, so congratulations. You now have another new job to balance.”

Evune buried his hands in his hair and rubbed his scalp. He knew she was right. It was an idiotic, thoughtless decision that would put him right underneath Elvia’s radar. And she hated him before everything began.

The Magister stood up and walked around the flap leading to her bedroom. She came back with a stack of books and placed them on the crystalline table. “These books are on Tevinter etiquette. I don’t know if you’re planning this business with the Archon to settle into permanence but you need to know how to protect yourself—with words and gestures.”

“I have to read all these books? I can't wing it or something.”

“If you’re going to lead them, the members of the Hole, no. You need to start learning their actual wants and needs. You'll polish your skills in time but you need the tools.” Nanterius plucked off her glasses and picked up a cloth beside her to begin cleaning it. “You’re all going to have to work together especially by the next trial. Elvia has a history of. . .allowing the trials to become hazardous."

Evune brow furrowed. He said slowly, “This has happened before.”

“This is the fifth competition of the Hole that has ever been hosted.” Nanterius stated. “By the end of second trial, most of the competitors are either dead or executed and no competitor has reached the end of the third.”

“Your Magisterium hasn’t put a stop to it.

Nanterius frowned. “The Hole is meant to promote a way for the Archon to produce heirs and alleviate the pressure on the Consort.”

"This isn't what Davan said."

"No, it isn't is it." Nanterius added wryly. "Do you want the truth or what everyone is  _told_ is the truth?"

He propped his chin on his hand and said, “The truth.”

“The Archon is searching for support in his endeavors, while the Lady Consort plans.” Nanterius said lowly. “We don’t quite know what she wants. Her intent seems to be to better the Imperium, but, recently, I'm not so sure. Her use of the Liberati and casteless is extremely disconcerting. The fact that she does little to hide it is moreso.”

“Davan believes there is something bigger than Elvia.”

Nanterius merely tilted her head. "There is the lyrium trade--definitely. She's using it as a pretense to manipulate but also as a cover."

"For what?"

"What little I know of the Valens, I know the head of the family, Danarius uses it and tests it on those he employs." Nanterius said, carefully,  as if this was sensitive information.

Evune could tell this was something serious but it went over his head. "I don't understand."

"Lyrium testing is a part of the crueler underbelly of the Imperium. They--" Nanterius grew hesitant. She poured herself another cup of tea, inhaling the steam. "These people believe the best way to control the Fade is to become one with it, hence, the use of lyrium. Evune, they inject the lyrium into their bodies like some sort of golem."

"But that would kill them."

Nanterius nodded. "In their endeavors to leash the Fade, they've murdered many, many people. They treat it like a culling. It's barbaric."

"It should be outlawed."

Nanterius gave a prim smile. "Not without a law written against it."

"If we outlaw this, will it stop Elvia?"

"Possibly." Nanterius shook her head. "But we can try."

"Good." Evune sat back against the chair. It was something.

“Magister Nanterius.” A soldier outside called out. “The Archon and his Consort are calling for the new trial to be sounded!”

Nanterius shared a look with Evune and then her gaze dropped to the books. Evune sighed and picked up the books as they both made their way out to what he was feeling was the beginning of the end.

 

 

 

The soldiers, the guards surrounded the outer lines of the camp, while the members of the Hole stood in front. Evune shoved through the soldiers and scooted in next to Marcella as Davan, the Archon, and Elvia appeared out from the tent.

“Good morn, members of the Hole.” Elvia spoke, her voice much stronger than her dainty appearance would suggest. It spread across every ear and caught their attention. “The new trial, as will all of them, concerns a secret we’ve kept from you. Today, we will tell you the truth.”

Gheeran, Keela, and most of the soldiers casted confused expressions. Some of them began whispering and throwing wild ideas of what the object could be.

Elvia continued, “It is called the Hand of Thoth—the weapon one of our own Old Gods once wielded in battle.”

“The Hand of Thoth?”

“That’s a legend.”

“This is crazy.”

Evune shifted in place as he heard the rampant whispers of disbelief. These Old Gods were something he had never heard before.

Gheeran began speaking quickly under her breath, “It can’t be real. Magic is limited within the confine of mana, of the Fade, and speculative measures of warding design. If anyone can just use magic—if it’s not a legend, then—

“This is not a myth or an unproven lore of history.” Elvia said, she raised her hand, silencing the unbelievers, “This weapon is real and it will be the blade in which we destroy the Qunari once and for all. With our knowledge and experience with the fade and advanced magic, we will let Thedas know who is the once and true power.”

The soldiers began chanting, “Tevinter! Tevinter!”

“The Imperium! The Imperium!”

The Archon tilted a respectful nod at Elvia and a small smile. The Archon’s voice resounded, with a lifted hand, “We have enlisted the help of the dwarves who would also benefit most from our continued allegiance and the chance for having magic for the first time in all their lives. As a result, they wish for us to host a Proving.”

None of this made any sense to him. Evune whispered to Marcella, “What does this mean?”

Marcella gave suffering sigh. “It means we’re going back home.”

Evune’s eyes widened. “The Imperium?”

Marcella nodded before pulling her attention back to the Archon.

“The members of the Hole will be trained for two months’ time and then will fight as representatives of our work towards finding the Hand of Thoth.”

The heightened voices of shouts and clamoring, the stomps of the soldiers, and clapping of metal armor deafened him.

He tossed a look at Deshanna and she shook her head.

There was no way they were getting out of this one.

 

 

 

 


	9. Part II: Chapter Nine

B

_9:05 dragon_

_25 th day of Matrinalis_

     

            If there was one thing that surprised him about the Imperium, it wasn't the clothing, the machinery, or even the people but their many superstitions. Guards couldn't wear red unless wearing a heraldry. Red was bad luck and cursed lovers back home if it's used for war. Likewise, if you give your significant other your heraldry during a war or while you're off fighting battles, you're calling a demon into their house like a beacon. Neither seemed much to do with anything except create fear. Elvhen superstitions were the same, he guessed. Fen'Harel will eat your children this and Fen'Harel will eat your toes that. The trickster god had to have been alive once. He was probably sent to time out by his parents all the time as a child. He could relate.

Once aboard the ship, the ship captain, a grizzled stout man of non-Tevene origins no less, told them,  "Ai, the seas are merciless to the newborn. Always crooking their head east and west but never up! I must remind you, see this elf here,  _this_ is our ship's newest mate." and he slapped Evune's shoulders deafening his ear with that boisterous chuckle. 

Evune didn't understand. They were the most friendly Tevinters he's met so far and it was disconcerting. Friendly and Tevinter didn't go hand in hand.

He inched away from the ship captain and the other crewmates who appeared honestly worried about him, almost overwhelmingly so. They asked him, 'How do you feel?" and 'Is the weather especially hot or cold?" and even a few more on that cursed fish porridge. His answers were, of course, "Awful." and "Freezing." but he refused to respond to the fish porridge questions. Maybe the whole of Tevinter would get the hint how disgusting the meal actually was. Eventually, he bothered Nanterius about it but she was no help. She only laughed at a volume close to the ship captain's. She told him, "And Maferath would spit on the Maker if he could." It wasn't a code or secret language.  It was a superstition involving Maferath and the Maker. Maferath didn't take this warning to heed from his wife pleading him to watch his newest crewmates. They would save his life. In his arrogance, he lost most of his men to the seas. 

Still, it went over his head. Humans and their gods. . .or really,  _one_ god. They didn't even know what he looked like. He might not even be a he but he kept silent as Nanterius explained to him the importance of the Chantry not just to Tevinter but in all of Thedas. Black Divine Eristoceles was a figure of importance and she reminded him that he could be the difference between Evune's survival or death.

None of this sounded comforting. If Tevinters took these small things to heart, he wondered what superstitions Davan believed in? Furthermore, which ones did Tarsian? Were they things that held truth? Did a 'Maker' truly exist?

The Elvhenan didn't believe so. Nanterius read over the translations, which were no help in finding the Hand of Thoth, and found out that these child warriors, Dragons, grew up to be Tevinter's Old Gods. Of course, Nanterius didn't believe them to be one and the same but Evune told her he didn't have a reason to lie. He didn't care either way. This convinced her--somewhat. She was more convinced that it's one of the oldest tales of the Old Gods. He didn't believe Nanterius was much of a believer by the way she described it--these Old Gods. The translations also stated that these warriors grew up and rebelled immediately after their first battle. This was said to be the First Mistake but he couldn't tell _whose_ mistake it was. The Old Gods? The Dragons? Moreso, it was such an odd title for the transcript. It was all dramatic and attention-seeking. He wondered if it meant the transcript was actually a sordid novel that his ancestors once read.

Add this to their obsession with dragons, well, this was ridiculous. If everything had dragon in it's title, were dragons really that magnificent? Out of all his questions, this was the one he wanted answered the most and most urgently.

         

           The boat captain’s bell dinged as the ship reached the port of Vyrantium's harbor.  Birds congregated in the nearest waters and on the wooden posts when they exploded into the sky at the sharp ringing. Evune couldn’t help but twist around in wonder at the clarity of the water with its baby blue ripples; the overreaching buildings and canopies, with which the Imperium emboldened with thick iron and spun metals like yarn--phantom limbs of the Tevinter of old; and the dragonling statues hunched by the black stone walls lined with silver spikes. It wasn’t to his surprise that even in the sun of daylight the city had a mysterious aura about it. People fidgeting in the shadows and leering from the corners when backs turned.

This was not Seheron. 

He was far from the familiarity of fresh dew and cloudy skies that he couldn't help but breath in. He covered his nose as the strange scents of the city overwhelmed him. “Welcome to my city.” Nanterius said from behind him. “You have the scroll and the stamp, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Evune pulled a stiff arm behind his back. His nose twitched. “I finished reading the second volume. A different fork to eat cake?"

“Be lucky I didn’t give you the one my mother had me read.” Nanterius scoffed. She pulled out a metallic black fan from her draping sleeve and begun swishing the air. “Fall hasn’t completely hit here yet, so you should feel right at home for a while yet. Come now. Don’t get lost.”

When they first docked the ships to leave, there had been three to choose from: the boat meant to carry the Archon and his consort, the one with the Templars, and the one funded by the Magisterium that Nanterius was going to take. The members of the Hole were made to go on the ship with the Templars due to Consort Elvia’s insistence, but Nanterius asked him to travel with her instead. In part, it was a bold decision on Nanterius to show that she _liked_ him.

It may have been a "clever" move, but he did not go with her to outsmart or outmaneuver Elvia. He did it because she needed him as much as he needed her. Evune was her key to the Archon, to the Magisterium. The members of the Hole didn't need him, as they had told him repeatedly. Tarsian didn't need him--his dismissive glances more than enough evidence. And Evune needed to _do_ something. Anything. So this strange mentor and apprentice relationship fit him just fine.

“Magister Nanterius.” A man greeted them at the end of the docks where the market began. He dressed in white and black, much like the others in the city. It seemed a pattern to blend black, white and metal for an effect of strength and fear.  “Representatives from Minrathous wish to conduct a quick meeting to review the present situation.”

"Do use my legitimate title. I feel mocked otherwise." Nanterius clicked her tongue. “Tell me of this situation. And do please walk and talk. We have no time to waste.” Her first and second directive aimed at the man. Evune snapped to attention when she tossed a dirty look at his stilted movement at the last.

The man gave a minuscule nod of recognition towards Evune before turning back to Nanterius. He pursed his lips. “The Publicanum of Vyrantium, Praetor, have noted that there have been disappearances, mainly involving the Liberati. Nevertheless, they wish to focus our resources to Minrathous. Your substitutes, per your written orders, have not made a decision either or. They wait on your opinion.” The man bowed lowly.

“I do remember the missives, but I was not made aware of its seriousness.”

"Praetor, nearly thirty Liberati have disappeared in two months."

Nanterius stopped and tapped her feet. “Well, this is certainly baffling. Vyrantium should be the farthest thing from their minds. They are aware, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Nanterius sighed. She began walking again and Evune trailed behind quietly. "How hard has the farm labor been hit?"

"Four merchants plots are down thirty percent. Due to heightened fears, several others have also been affected."

Nanterius sniffed and shook her head. "Those idiots don't seem to realize how much Vyrantium supports on Liberati. They're our highest workforce." She turned to Evune with a tilted head.  "It seems like you’re going to get your first lesson on the Magisterium. Always be prepared for the phoenix to attack even whilst it dozes off. Their hunger is unquenchable and one mistake will get you killed.” Her heels clacked as she strode forward with Evune speeding up behind her to catch up.

 

 

 

The halls of Vyrantium’s Forum were large thick white and blue mosaic arches spotted with stripes of black intermittently. Their footsteps pattered in the silence of the halls. They were the only ones in them.

Nanterius paused. “Cairn, I didn’t change the hours in my absence, did I?”

“No, Praetor, but because of the disappearances a curfew was put into play.”

"Without my say-so no less." Nanterius flicked her hand and then straightened her wrist cuffs. “Call a meeting with my old friends. It seems I need to replace some of my cabinets. You understand?”

“Yes, right away.” The man bowed deeply and even gave a quick nod to Evune before running out through the entrance.

As they continued walking down the hall, he didn’t feel right about the situation. Walking into a room full of Elvias was foolish. It would get them killed. Moreso, her phoenix analogy was being wasted on him if _she_ was going to walk right into the phoenix's den all nonchalant. “I don’t think we should be going in alone. Something about this isn’t right.”

“Clearly, but I have done nothing to warrant action against me, now have I?” Nanterius dropped her gaze on Evune.

Evune snapped his mouth shut. 

“Then we have nothing to worry about.” 

He thought. _You_ _saying that only makes me worry more._

The halls opened up into a four-way where left and right would have taken them to the public officer’s rooms and designated Magister’s rooms. Going straight, as they were doing, took them to the main forum where five men and two women were already seated and adorned in their magister robes. The seating for the magisters was raised pedestals like the booth seats for a play. The lower seating, although currently empty, Evune believed were for the public to sit at and watch.

Nanterius snapped her fan shut and directed Evune to one of the lower chairs before wandering up to the center flooring.

“Greetings everyone!” Nanterius glued a placating smile on and waved her hand. She tilted her head as she walked around the stage in a circle and she continued to do so as she spoke. “I hear you wanted to speak with me immediately. Tell me, what’s on your mind?”

The first person was a rather short and skinny elderly man. Balding on the top with a large, bushy mustache on his upper lip, before he spoke, the hair wiggled. “Minrathous is in need of our great city’s resources. As our representative in the Magisterium, it is your duty to—

Nanterius cut in, “My duty is to keep our citizens safe. Tell me, will sending you our resources help them? I have heard strange rumors of disappearances in my absence.”

The magisters shifted uncomfortably in their seating.

“ _Temporary_ Magister Nanterius, you have caught the attention of the Valens." The man said pointedly. "They believe you’re tampering with the Hole competitors by choosing a preference. It would be easier if you simply did as asked.”

“Thus, the truth comes out. You all wish to know who I’m willing to support.” Nanterius said lightly.

Evune instinctively ducked his head at the mention of him.

“Well, there’s really only one choice.” The man said humorously.

“Strange,” Nanterius began to say as she veered on the man, it brought a clean frown to her face. “I thought the Issar family was benefitting off the currency of the Black Divine, dear friend. You do honorable work under the Maker but these executions and disappearances are enough to make a person wonder if circumstances are tilted in another’s favor. The Black Divine is a Valens himself and Elvia’s uncle. Coincidence?”

“You’re speaking of a great folly, Nanterius.” Another man spoke. Also an older man, he spoke in great pauses as if his jaw unhinged after every few words. “The Valens have lifted us up and our Consort is a well-educated, well-spoken woman of great nobility. The Black Divine is a holiness that cannot be surpassed. The accords have yet to be signed. This is. . . is insurrection!”

The magisters mumbled in agreement and nodded in acknowledgment.

“Then let me make you aware of the present situation, Crallius.” Nanterius raised her chin. “This situation with a blood mage was not a mistake under the Templar’s watch but under the Consort’s. These deaths and execution, which put her own situation into transparency, are under _her_ watch. And she has used our resources to go on the offensive against the Qunari with a weapon that has yet to appear leaving my great city vulnerable. I can do nothing else in my city's need but refuse when you ask us to _sacrifice_ our resources. How can this situation offer anything else?”

The magisters mumbled again but in contradictory tones—some in agreement and some against.

Nanterius finished, “As Praetor, a simple representative, and my temporary Magister status--merely that--my preference is neither a mage nor a human. An unwinnable match, I have been told. I think you should ask instead why the Consort may be panicking with such pebbles in the pond if she has no ripples.” She twirled around and with a quick tap of her feet on the now silent floor, she headed towards the exit.

 

 

 

The pathways of the intercity for the main road had carriages, large cloth-based transports with coverings to protect from bad weather, pulled by Dracolisks. The city was bursting alive with the tapping of feet, the laughter of voices, and the static of magic. Pushing carts full of strange boxes and flashing, whirring mechanisms in the air as street lights or even the booming sounds of the theater some far ways down were constant noises drawing his eyes left and right. Even so, among these distractions, he found out the people trailing behind each and every one of these carts was a slave, usually elvhen. Viscerally, it struck him that the only difference between him and those slaves hauling boxes were the scrolls tucked deep in the pockets of his tunic. His scar not validating him much more than the Archon’s property.

A piece of flimsy--slightly damp from the trip--parchment was all he had. And yet, it was exciting. He was unbearably excited and it frightened him. He always believed he would live and die in Seheron. He didn’t know what to plan ahead. He didn’t know what to expect. He only hoped he measured up. 

Gods. He hoped he measured up.

 It wasn’t long before it started to rain and the sky turned gray. He expected the city to dim in the loss of light but the metal reflected what little light there was leaving them surrounded like the swamp’s night.

His mouth opened without warning. “Nanterius.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not a mage.”

A smile pulled at her lips. “You are most definitely not.”

“I can’t be a Magister.”

“There are ways around that.” The carriage slowed to a stop and a servant opened the carriage door with a sweeping hand gesture. Nanterius exited the carriage with Evune trailing close behind. “Power comes in many forms.” 

                                                                               

Nanterius’ home was half the size of the tower the Hole members ate their first feast in. This is not to say the house was small because it was, in fact, huge. The house had six windows on both sides and a large open door with an outstretch length of a front arch. The outside had lush green grass that swept around the back where Cairn pulled the carriage and the Dracolisk into a large hut. Nanterius called it a “shed”. It was a building they kept their animals in and, once again, Evune was both fascinated and disturbed. Were Tevinter animals unable to survive outside?

 Inside the house, there were only a few servants. More than he felt was comfortable but less than he expected. Thankfully, none of them were elvhen. “The accords are going to be crucial in the coming months. Every cycle the accords are signed, the Magisters push to have their amendments passed.” Nanterius handed her fan and boots to the nearest servant as Evune stood embarrassed, waving off the servants help. “It’s the last vestiges of a bond between Dwarven society and Thedas to have it signed. And unless the Magister has royally pissed off the Ambassadoria, the Dwarven ambassadors, their amendments are passed every time.”

“How long do we have?”

Nanterius sighed and raised her arms as another servant dropped a robe on her shoulder. “We have until the day of the Proving which is really no time at all. Follow me.” She led him up the half-way spiraling up the staircase where he counted five rooms alone.

At the end of the hall, she opened a door. The room had a forest painted on its wall. In fact, these trees were so lifelike that when his fingers dragged across the paint the ridges scratching against his fingertips drew him into a memory with his father. The trees were wide sweeping strokes and it showed all four seasons across it with the progression of life to death connecting its four walls where behind him sat the withered tree. The tree with lanterns on its branches and the door an actual entrance to this tree was the depiction of the story of Arlathan as his father told him.

"All things must end." Evune spoke under his breath.

Nanterius said, offhandedly, distracted by her decision of which closet to open first. "I thought the farmhand was making a joke. An elven thing, I gather."

"It's Elvhen, and, yes, it is." Evune was graced by the familiarity. His father would've like to meet the farmhand.

Nanterius walked to the other side of the room and opened the nearest closet full of clothing.There was a darkwood drawer with knobs in the shape of dragon claws, a bed with airy padding, and a chair trimmed with what looked like rubies.  “These are going to be your clothing. In one of the outside sheds, you’re going to have to test out a few weapons with a friend of mine tomorrow. In a week, you will be going to Minrathous.”

Evune brushed a hand against his face."And you?"

"I will be here." Nanterius quirked a brow. "Did you expect me to keep holding your hand?

 _Yes._ "But the magisters and Elvia--

“I have a sense that after we find out about the mystery of the disappearing Liberati that we will have all that we need." Nanterius gestured towards one of the servants to leave. Evune shut the door behind them.

 “And the accords?”

"The goal is to remove Elvia’s seat of power.”  

"Why is Elvia doing this?" This question had pulled at him ever since he met her. She seemed clever. She was already in a high position no matter her complaints otherwise.

 "She was once into research and ancient Tevinter relics.” Nanterius sighed. She paced the room, stopping in front of the closet sitting right by the window. A tree branch tapped against the window with the moon peering through its leaves. "The Archon snuck a bit of property out from underneath her nose. Just slight enough to change the balance of powers from even to uneven. Well, until the girl decided she would rather destroy the construct than remake it."

"There was a mirror in their base. It was Elvhen.”

"Do you imagine she plans to use elven magic to fight us?" Evune pursed his lips as Nanterius tossed a speculative glance. "Do you?"

"No."

 Evune pressed a gentle hand on the bed and sat down. The mattress was like a bed of thick sea moss. He sunk into its fluffy depths already dreaming of his dreams. Nanterius opted to clear her throat then.

"It was a long trip. I expect you to get your rest as you will be up early. You will have to train for the tourney." 

An hour later he was splayed on his airy bed when a gentle knock on the door hit. He tilted his head, believing his ears were playing a trick on him.

“Evune, sir.”

Evune walked to the door and creaked it open slightly. His confused expression met Cairn’s shifting expression. Cairn twisted his hands together and kept looking over his shoulder. The servant whispered, “Sir, you must come outside. There’s someone outside waiting for you.”

Evune peeked out the window to catch a carriage with thick shimmering silver wheels and three Dracolisks at its head. Cairn muttered, almost as if to himself, “It looks like the Archon’s transport.”

At those words, his hands flew down along the stair rails as he rushed down them. He flung open the door and then stopped right in front of the carriage like his feet hit a muggy swamp’s unmovable current. The door opened and the face of Davan appeared. He gestured for Evune to hurry inside. Evune paused briefly before wiping the shock off his face. This was going to be an awkward ride.

 

The carriage was roomier than Nanterius’ with wider seating space and bottles of liquor hooked on the sides. It was good that it was because Davan was not alone in the carriage.

As the carriage began to move, Deshanna leaned forward and pulled him next to her, knocking Arnarel to the carriage wall. Deshanna’ bright face and Arnarel’s sour expression met his at once. 

“I hope you’re not sleepy.” Deshanna said, with her hands tightly intertwined with Evune’s, “We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

Evune sighed. “I wasn't going to get sleep one way or another.”

“Good.” Arnarel added. “We have an informant to meet.”

"And he's been waiting awhile." Deshanna continued. "Like all day but--

"Did you get in safely?"

Deshanna awkwardly laughed. Her hands tightened against his. "Well, technically, I shouldn't be here."

Evune's eyes jumped to Arnarel's for an answer. He huffs, "Look, Elvia wanted her to help us find the weapon and Deshanna here said--

"Fuck no." Deshanna chimed in and then lowered her eyes when Arnarel glared. "Like you wouldn't have done the same."

"Deshanna and I plan on camping on the outskirts until things settle down."

"And how will you answer to Tarsian's calls?" Evune prodded. Arnarel twisted his mouth and said nothing. He turned to Davan, who made a choking noise at the sound of his brother's name. He peered from the corner of his eyes as Deshanna began to explain her side of the story, but Davan sat unconcerned, staring out the window.

He _knew_. 

“The merchant was threatened by Linnae and was forced to feed him, clothe him, find and carry lyrium for him, and the list goes on. For a few days, he was in constant contact with him.” Deshanna said.

“Linnae?” He turned to Deshanna and Arnarel.

Arnarel spoke up, “My brother.”

“There’s also something strange about the way Linnae died.” Deshanna said, she pressed her back against the plush seating of the carriage and crossed her legs. “Linnae was unpracticed in blood magic. We always trained together in other magics but when you met him at the altar those spells he used were advanced. We think someone was training him before he ran.”

Evune questioned, “Why?”

“This is what we’re here to figure out.” Davan spoke brusquely. The carriage rolled to a stop and he pushed open the door. The building they stood in front of was easy to miss. Its rounded metallic roof and tinged-gray stone walls made it blend in with the shadowed light Vyrantium thrived on. Its position in the middle of a cul de sac off the corner of the streets furthest from the markets even more so. Deshanna whipped out four hooded robes and passed them out. Each of them put on their robes and covered themselves from head to toe. Arnarel led the group inside. The inside of the building was a tavern with three different drinking spots and a velvet curtain covering a long hallway. On both sides of the curtain, there were two armored mercenaries scrutinizing passersby.

Arnarel tossed a look at Deshanna. “I’ll look for the merchant at the right end.”

“I’ll get the left.” Deshanna answered and before Evune could attach himself to either of them Davan and Evune were left alone.

Evune cleared his throat. “I don’t know what the merchant looks like.”

Davan tensed. “I do. We can check the last bar together.” And he sped forward as if fire licked at the bottom of his heels.

The bar stands were pleasantly different from the natural drab and gray of what little Evune had already seen. Those translucent bubbles he remembered Gheeran played around with in the forest were floating around the bar. The people sitting around, drinking, and laughing weren’t the posh sorts of people he had seen all throughout the early day. These people were the _normal_ ones. He doubted many of them were servants or slaves—the words still drew a bitter taste from his throat—and in fact a few them looked like dressed down soldiers. None of them looked like any merchants Evune had ever seen either.

“When did you all reach port?” Evune spoke carefully.

Davan leaned over the bar counter and tipped his hand in the air. “The Black Samite with ice.”

The bartender nodded and turned to the circular rack of large barrels of liquor. In a few quick twists of three different containers, the bartender filled up a glass and then opened a large metal casing to fling three shards of ice. He slid it to Davan and then disappeared to his next customer.

Davan took a long swig of the large glass. He exhaled sharply and dropped the glass with a solid sound.

Evune sat down at one of the barstools and Davan slid into the one beside him. Evune said again, quieter, “Are you going to ignore me?”

“It would be impossible, wouldn’t it? You’ve ingratiated yourself into our lives now.” Davan placed both hands around the glass, moving it side to side, watching the ice shards clink in the glass. He gave a harsh laugh. “I can’t even begrudge you. Our plans _need_ you to be in their favor.”

“That’s not why I’m doing this. I think I—

“Stop.” Davan pressed a hand across his face. “I don’t want to know. Just—Just be careful.”

“I will.”

Evune turned around and saw Deshanna leaning over the bar but the barrels of liquor blocked out the person. The person shifted out from the corner and walked over with Deshanna.

He reeled back. “Kellis.” It was like coming full-circle. His homeland's shadow sat in the back of his mind like a ghost and his face, Kellis' face, the summoner. Arnarel shoved Kellis forward causing him to stumble.

“Pleasure seeing you again.”

“What did you do?” Evune hissed. He stepped forward when Deshanna stood in his way.

Kellis replied with a raised curled finger in the air, “Ah, it’s not what I did, per se, it’s rather more what I didn’t—which was a lot actually. May I sit here?” Kellis plopped into the barstool beside Evune and swiveled around to look at them.

“Talk.”

"All your village’s potion ingredients were supplied by me. I might’ve even saved your life once. Fact. Honestly, I’m not a bad person. I’ve just hit a rough patch.”

Davan had to hold part of Evune's shoulder as he nearly rammed his fist into the traveling merchant's face, "If you had just  _told_ us about the blood mage--

"Told you?" Kellis replied, dryly, sarcasm dripping in his tone, "Oh, yes, you would've trusted the 'Tevinter' like you trusted  _all_ Tevinters."

"Your king has enslaved me, murdered my clan, and I've lost my home for it to be replaced with magic and murder. I think I had every right to."

The silence in their section of the bar stumbled uncomfortably as the others around them pointedly looked the other way. Even the bartender kept wiping the same crystalline glasses to avoid taking Davan's empty one.

“I had my suspicions on Winston, it was obvious, if you looked,” Kellis turned a bright eye at Evune, “I knew he was lying, but in hindsight--

"Leave it." Evune breathed out. "Just--Just, tell us why you're here."

Deshanna began to speak then, in hushed voices. "Listen,  we’re _concerned_ about the blood mage that attacked your camp. Anything you can tell us would be helpful.”

“Ah, my favorite. The stories of a dead man. Let's make it good, shall we?.” Kellis grinned at Evune’s dirty look and gestured the bartender to send him a drink.

 “Why leave you alive?”

Kellis flourished his hands out. “My charming personality.”

Arnarel snorted.

“One easy guess,” Kellis started again, “It was my knowledge. Every chief, every old man and woman, even the crazies, I know them. My family has been working these areas for two generations prior. I have connections.”

Davan sighed. “He was searching for people to sacrifice then. Why work with Qunari then?”

 “No, think bigger, lovely,” Kellis winked, ignoring Arnarel's glare, “He wanted to know about where the elves ate and slept. No specific schedules. Most settlements were too smart for that. The Qunari heard of a rogue mage and thought they could use him. Idiots. Too bad for them. The demon snapped. ”

“The demon?” Deshanna asked. “It felt threatened by the settlements or the Qunari then.”

“The demon and the mage were no normal bond. They had separate thoughts and opinions. They walked and talked with each other like they were friends.” Kellis’ brows furrowed. He rubbed at his chin, “The demon spoke of needing to know of elven settlements. I think they believed the Hand of Thoth was in the hands of an elf. The elf didn’t want to attack any other elves, and, well, they argued.”

“Now you’re just speculating.” Deshanna sighed. “The Hand of Thoth is an ancient Elvhen object but there is no trace of it in most works. If anyone had it at all, it would be lost in a temple no one has seen since the Fall. The demon couldn’t have known.”

“Ah, now this is the curious part,” Kellis said, while leaning forward, “I also believe the demon knew of the Fall."

Davan burst out, "Are you trying to say demons were once  _living_? That's ridiculous. Their pawns at the most. A weapon at their worst."

"I'm only saying that what if demons and spirits were the result of living people who lost themselves. What if demons and spirits were interchangeable?" Kellis paused, and a strangely mired expression fell on his face. "The things he said. You had to be there."

Davan turned to the elven members. "Do you hear this?"

Evune and Deshanna shared a look before the later cleared her throat. "The Fade is complex, Knight-Captain. Elvhen are told spirits are relatives and--

"No. I refuse to believe that." Davan harshly said. It was Evune's turn, then, to tug at his shoulder. They needed to hurry before they gathered too much attention.

Kellis lowered his voice, and leaned towards them, "The mage had a map of ancient Thedas. It helped him choose places."

 

“Do you have it?”

Kellis rummaged through the various pockets and the little slips of openings on his robes before he pulled out a faded cloth map. He unfolded it and the map was a painting of a place that looked nothing like Thedas but had all the appearances of a Thedas-like continent. It wasn’t until Evune realized that all the words of cities and countries were in Elvish that it made sense.

Deshanna plucked the map out from his hands. “Is that—By the gods, it’s a map of Arlathan and the rest of Thedas."

"I swore I said that."

Deshanna waved it in the air. "Do you know how much this is worth?”

Kellis snatched it out her hand and started flattening it. “Ten thousand, eight hundred, and sixty-five sovereigns. Seven thousand and four hundred royals. And a little over nine thousand imperials, but I’m only hazarding a guess.”

Arnarel said dryly, “Good to know.”

 “Well, that’s the earliest bid so far—which is why I contacted you all at all. I can’t make heads or tails of the map. Worse yet, there’s some kind of puzzle on it that is beyond me. As it is, the map has no use to me." Kellis pulled out a Tessarae coin. A square shaped coin with figures drawn on its faces at a diagonal. “There’s an auction going on tonight and I’ve added the map to the list of items.”

 “Explain.” Evune cut in.

Kellis took a swift look around before he said lowly, “A few days ago, I noticed being trailed. The ones trailing me wore the crests of the Valens family. Now, I know you’re all in relatively good places with them, but, uh, suffice to say, I am not since I failed to return which, yeah, who knew that would happen?”

Davan shared a look with Evune and a sound of disbelief. "If they wanted you dead,  _my friend_ , you would be dead."

"Well," Kellis fidgeted under their stares and cleared his throat, "one of them helped me. One of them whose voice was very familiar but--

"Get on with it." Arnarel scowled. "We don't have time to waste."

Kellis raised his eyes after looking around the bar surreptitiously, "I believe it was the Archon." Before Davan could dismiss that ludicrous words that even Evune thought was ridiculous, he opened his mouth again. "Or a friend of his."

"What would make you think this?" Deshanna pressed. "The man isn't one to fight Elvia head on. Too chickenshit for that."

Kellis barked a laugh. "Lovely, Tevinter isn't Orlais where a duel is announced on the streets or feuds are sent to assassins to finish. Tevinter keeps it in the clan. Always. An enemy of the clan is an enemy to them all. They have no mercy." By the bitter tone of his voice, Evune knew that his clan had, had such an experience. 

"And if they're of the same clan?" Evune questioned.

"Then the clan, as a whole, has abandoned them. It's never the result of one person's, even an Archon's, but the result of a unanimous decision. What is best for the clan?"

"Defeating Elvia may be what is best for Tarsian, but he isn't an actual Valens." Evune spoke aloud, thoughtfully. "It doesn't count."

Kellis tilted his head in confusion at Evune's use of the archon's name. Davan made a noncommittal throat sound and Evune quieted, realizing his mistake. Kellis, not one to stumble into things that could "trouble" him--without pay, of course--ignored it. "Marriage makes them one--in more ways than one--but you've got to see where I'm leading into. We all know the Archon and her are in a bit of a toss-up. But if this map is the deciding factor, well, I'm not one to get in a fistacuffs."

"But someone else's hands is fine with you?" Evune retorted. Heat flushing in his veins.

Kellis winked. "If they could be so kind."

Evune's mouth flew open and then snapped shut at Davan's hand falling on his shoulder. The Knight-Captain muttered, "Not now. He's burning both our nerves too easily." Evune nodded. He was right.

Evune grappled for any ideas Elvia might try to bring up. "A child would change that. He would be a Valens then."

"Then, it would be in her best interest not to have children, wouldn't it?" 

Deshanna and Arnarel shared a look while Davan gritted his teeth. His hand dropping from his shoulder as Davan spoke up, his voice tight, “We cannot actively attack or accuse Elvia. If she is a part of this, or even worse, the Black Divine, then one of their men will definitely be at the auction if they are not here already. Let them destroy one another.”

“We don’t have to attack. Not directly.” Evune added, placatingly. Davan sniffed and then acquiesced. He knew that they had to control the situation lest they lose either way. Evune turned to Kellis. “Say that we do this auction for you. They won’t let you leave after. You’ve become a loose end and they have no way of knowing what you do or don’t know. But, I can offer you a way to survive. Only that you must—

Kellis lurched forward with both hands on Evune’s shoulders. “I’m begging. I have nowhere to go." He pulled out an another map but it lacked the transparent image, the puzzle, on its paper. “I made a copy of the map here. A fake in case I got caught. But, it doesn't have the puzzle. Use it instead.” 

Evune couldn't hear or make sense of lie in his words. His mother's warning voice an even quieter echo. “Praetor Nanterius is looking for an apprentice. You’re older than she expects but she can provide you the protection you need. In turn, all of the money goes to us, including the business itself.”

“But—” Kellis slouched. His eyes swiveled from Evune to Davan. “My family built this business from the bottom up. It's all I have.”

“No, now you have us." Evune ended. 

Kellis wiped a sweaty hand across his forehead and his shaky hands clenched. “I'll write the deeds.”

“Good. And then you'll hand it to these two.” Evune grinned at Arnarel and Deshanna.

Deshanna waved her hands wildly. “I can’t carry a business!” Arnarel agreed noncommittally and she tossed a glare his way.

“You need a better cover. Temporary citizenship will be enough.” Evune turned to Davan, “What do you think?”

"I will see if I can help push for it. Merchants are always desired." Davan frowned, while Arnarel said, almost grudgingly, “Fine.”

The entrance door opened then with a streamline of men and women in thick black chokers, long sweeping dresses or armored leggings, and guards pushing through the velvet curtains of the back halls. Each and every one of them handed the mercenaries a handful of coins before floating passed them with this high ethereal energy. These were the elite Tevinter he had expected to see.

“The auction is about to begin, but I only have enough entrance coins for two people.”

Deshanna answered, “It has to be me."

“Arnarel, you won't be able to go.” Evune said, interrupting his request to go with Deshanna, “I’ll need you to watch over Kellis, like a guardsmen, until Nanterius has things set."

Arnarel grunted but nodded his head.

“Can I speak to you? Quickly.” Davan finished. His eyes meet Evune’s and Evune nodded. They moved to a corner, while Davan paced anxiously.

It reminded Evune that none of this was ordinary. He had wished for adventure and change but never like this. It would be worse for someone like Davan, a warrior who hated to fight. “I'm sorry for asking more of you. If this is too much, I--”

“Everything I’ve done since the beginning is questionable. This is no different.” Davan paused before staring back firmly, “I want—I _need_ you to know that I’m not doing this just out of the kindness of my heart or out of an infatuation with you.”

"Oh, an infatuation?" Evune grinned.

Davan huffed. "Don't." and Evune tilted his head. "I have a reason to want to stop this.

"You're serious."

“One day, we'll need someone better than my brother and better than Elvia.”

“Like who? ” Evune crossed his arms. Davan was better than this. To grapple for power.

“Not me,” Davan shook his head and brushed his hand through his hair. “I—I don’t know what you can do. I believe there are better things for us to be—elves, non-mages, and ex-slaves. You are the first one to have stood up to Elvia in many years and I’ve never been more thankful that Templars can’t become Archons. ” 

"You have someone in mind already."

“Yes. Maybe. Just know that if you're caught down there," Davan hesitated. "She will kill you. She was playing with you before but not anymore. It's real here."

"I understand."

He shared a smile with Evune before something flitted over his eyes, pulling him away. "Davan," Evune asked, "what is this fear with spirits? I understand demons, but--"

"My uncle once threatened me with a piece of glass."

Evune didn't understand. "And?"

"The glass spoke to me. It spoke to him. He turned obsessed, and, it changed him."

Evune gripped his shoulder and reminded him. "We're not spirits or demons. We don't change when the wind blows. We have free will."

"Yes," Davan's breathing rattled out and his imposing figure appeared small. It was such a minute transition that he almost didn't recognize the Knight-Captain.

"I'll be fine."

And Davan said nothing. 

Kellis handed them the coins and Evune with Deshanna following close behind walked to the large mercenaries blocking the doorway. Evune opened his hand and dropped the coins into the opened hands of the mercenaries.

 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex scene in-between the first chapter breaks. Important but not critically.

 

"I shouldn't be nervous."

The lift's wheel squeaked and the slow pace as it lowered melded into a new anxiety--weakness. Was he strong enough to do what was needed? It should be simple. Get rid of the fake map. Ward Elvia off their trail. Gain a foothold on the trail to the Hand of Thoth. Simple. Deshanna, in her easy manner, brushed off the worry.

"We'll find it. It's in our blood."

"That's what I'm worried about. I'm not an ordinary elf or a good one."

Deshanna sniffed. "Join the club."

Rocks clicked together as if about to start a fire like a timer. The odor snuck into his nose and it lacked the musk and tweedy waft of above ground. It lacked pungency but made up for it in a distinct copper-like smell of rock. The freshness was a comforting reprieve and as he inhaled the smell of river water—lightly scented with the smell of grass and wood.

There was an underground river. And it inked below them in a slither like a python that died during an escape. They were no longer in a building but a mid-water cavern where the river below glittered green and blue. Outside of the lift behind them was a large wheel, lifting and turning, carrying the water in-between its ridges as the gears connected to it dropped the lift. It screeched to a stop crushing pebbles underneath into gravel. The loudest sound in the otherwise silent cavern.

"Linnae would've loved this." Deshanna whispered behind him and she took the first step forward into the city with buildings carved--because built was such a _weak_ shallow word for it--out of the very stone they sat in. These geometric buildings were a meshed style of Tevinter and another that he had never seen, while the torches illuminated the city using a familiar style of obsidian and oil, few people were out wandering. The vendor stands were empty crates and the shops were closed.

Evune noted, humor coloring his voice, "My friend would've hated it. No color. No gold. And my parents would've been just as unimpressed. A city was a city to them. No more. No less." Twisting his head around, searching for anything out of place in a place that already looked  _out of place_ , he bumped into one of the townsmen. The force of ramming into the bearded man knocked Evune to the ground. 

The stoutly bearded man grunted. “Sodding elves, watch where you’re going!”

Before Evune could apologize, Deshanna stood in front of him. “Excuse me, we’re looking for the auction. Do you know where that is?”

“Well, if you got some coin with you—

Deshanna pulled out a few gold coins and flashed them in the air. “Please and thank you.”

“Cross the Bridge of Gavorn and take a left.” The man snatched the coins out from Deshanna’s hand and disappeared by the dark alleyways between the buildings. 

"Dwarves. Only second to elves." Deshanna cut in, grinning. When Evune only blinked, she repeated, "The Children of the Stone, genius. See, this is what happens when you kill the mood bringing up dead friends and--"

Evune refused to point out that Linnae was dead too especially considering his involvement with it. He changed the subject. "Last I read, they hated us."

"Well, we're in luck!" Deshanna grinned. An expression Evune was learning meant trouble. "Now, they hate  _all_ of us."

"Humans too?"

"Especially." Deshanna sped ahead towards the bridge, but Evune couldn't help thinking. He grappled for her shoulder and stopped her from leaving.

"Do you believe elves and humans will be able to get along? In five thousand years."

Deshanna narrowed her eyes. "Can you imagine ever getting along with that _friend_ of yours?"  

No. He didn't think he could but--

"Once upon a time, they were friends. Humans and elves."

"How far back were your studies?" Deshanna laughed. It has been awhile since humans and elves were friendly.

"Millenias and the nearest date I read to is a few centuries ago. My parents wanted me to know our history inside and out. Cause and effect."

"And they didn't teach you to live in the now?"

Deshanna's words stung deeper than he expected. He lived in the now. Everything he thought and did was now.

Deshanna tapped her chin and hummed. "We need to get you a newspaper."

"A news--?"

She waved her hand. "Stop. You're  _killing_ me."

It wasn't his fault he wasn't up to date on everything that happened in Thedas. He had been on an  _island_. He muttered, "Dhava ‘ma masa. _(_ _Kiss my ass._ ) _"_

"Oh, but you know how to curse in elvhen." Deshanna said, while poking the leg of a great statue holding an axe and posing aggressively with its shoulders straight, legs splayed. "Great use of time."

The distance wasn’t very far and it was easy to see the auction entrance when the group of well-dressed Tevinters, elven servants, mercenaries, and the city’s citizens crowded then entered into one building.

“You been to these, prince of Nazari?” Deshanna said as they moved into the mass line of people.

 _I wasn't a prince._ Evune shook his head. “Never was one for gatherings with the sister clans. I didn't like to be seen. Questioned." He remembered hiding in the bathroom huts when he was younger. It took him years to learn how to deal with such large crowds in such small spaces. He wondered if he truly disliked the forest so much as the forest never seemed to like him. Not odd at all when he thought about his ancestors' fascination with trees and hallas.

“That’s not what Davan said.” She replied humorously. “He thinks you’re already gotten through the thick of the problems you could’ve faced.”

"It wasn't like I planned _any_  of it.  My mother--" He broke off. He hadn't thought about his mother, dying alone in a cell without him and without his father, since his feet touched boardwalk.

“You’re only going to hear worse.”

They went through the entrance and listened to the whispers of the people behind and in front of them. They were led into a room like packed animals and pushed into rows and rows of seating on inclined platforms that steadily raised each row.

"What else has Davan said?"

Deshanna gave him a knowing look and turned back to search the rows for anyone recognizable. No one caught her eye, apparently. "He didn't say much about you. I know he hates his brother though and that he doesn't want you ending up like his mother."

"His mother?"

"The one the Archon was supposed to save through a court case or something. I don't know. Stupid shemlen."

Evune opened his mouth but the lights switched off and Deshanna squeezed them into the sixth row, which sat halfway in the entirety of the room. He knocked against a paddle stuck to one of the chairs on his way through. It tickled his arm at first and then it grew into an itch. He scratched his arm hoping to make it go away. And then he began scratching his collar. He fidgeted in his seat just trying to reach his side.

“Someone's starting to speak.” Deshanna whispered.

Evune pulled his arms to his knees and clenched his hands on his thighs as the itching continued to spread throughout his body. The itching turned to pain. It was like little needles poking only the top layer of his skin but pulling and stretching the layer as it readied to poke again like roughly kneaded bread. The torches went out one by one until the main center platform was the brightest place in the room with four large flaming torches.

“Today’s auction is going to be a showing to behold.” A woman said loudly. Her voice was distinctly familiar. Evune scratched his collar again, ignoring Deshanna’s poorly hidden glare. “First of all, we offer thanks to the Valens, the Thalrassians, and the Antonidas clans for their continued support in Dwarven trade.” People cheered and clapped their hands in response. “For those of us who are new, in front of your seating are lyrium-infused paddles, each with the markings of randomized runes. To auction for an item, you will raise your paddle and you will be listed down in order by who raised their paddle first to last.”

"Marcella? That bitch." Deshanna hissed. Her hands clenched at the seat in front of her and Tevinter in the seat glared over. "Yeah, you too." The Tevinter stood up and moved to the next seat over. She leaned forward and pulled out from a pocket behind the seating in front of them a paddle. "We better win this auction. Can't wait to see her stupid ass--

Evune clutched his arms in an effort to stop the scratching when his skin began to burn. The flickers of stone or light off the paddle burning his fingertips. “The paddle.” He tightly clutched his arms. “I have to leave.”

She switched the paddle to her other hand and uncovered Evune’s arm to see that he had been scratching so hard that his arms were covered in bloodied streaks.

 “I’ll be right outside.” Evune breathed. He exhaled sharply pressing his arm hard against the seating until one pain overshadowed the other. He pushed through the row and flew through the doors until he was back outside the stone building. He lowered his hand and breathed out in relief.

_“Iras. . .  ar(Where. . . I)?.”_

Evune whipped around. There was no one in the streets--even less than earlier. The door shut behind him and he felt the whoosh of air suck out. He touched the door behind him. The only thing it could've been was--

 _“I am . . .no demon.”_ The voice whispered in his ear like smoke, quick and easily blown by the wind.

 _No._ Evune broke forward, planning on heading back up the lift to Davan or Nanterius when he saw three men racing towards him. He slid underneath the arches of the bridges and listened to the stomp of feet run past. The first man, already out of breath, was dressed in heavy jewelry, rings on every finger, and silky robes. He didn't look like the type to be wandering out without guards, while the two men behind him were dressed raggedly in hoods. Thieves, it seemed. He clutched the brick closer as the richly dressed man shouted.

“You Liberati fools! Do you think a little fire and shouting will change centuries of slavery?” The two hooded figures snatched at the man and shoved him into the alleyway.

_“Help them.”_

He followed them into the alleyway and crept around the corner and peered over to see the three men—two humans and one elf. The elf and a man stood over the third who was tied up from head to tie. The untied man hissed, “It’ll be a start. Tell us where you have our people.”

 _Could this be related to the disappearing farmhands?_ He whispered under his breath, "I'm not doing it because you asked, demon." He slid closer to hear the conversation, sitting underneath a hanging metal sculpture to cover him.

“Or you will doom all your Liberati brethren!” The tied man struggled against his bonds before glaring up at the men in front of him. “Do you think they will allow such leniency on Liberati, on freed slaves, after this? You may destroy the Liberati class altogether!”

The man, young by the look of his eyes, held two daggers in his hands. He looked only a few years older than Evune. The elf, on the other hand, with a black brand marking across his cheek in the shape of an “X” and a circle, appeared much older.

 _“You must free them.”_ The voice hissed.

_Do they look bound to you?_

It whispered like it spoke into his ear, _"Yes."_ The shock of its voice sounding so close and so real knocked Evune against the metal sheet along the alleyway drawing the three men's attention and admitting his presence. He broke out from the corner, slowly. “He's right. If you attack the auction now, you’ll catch the attention of several clans. Powerful ones.”

The man strode forward and hissed, “Why should we care? Don’t you care about your elven brethren?”

“Calm down, Oran. Let him speak.” The elder elf said.

 

The tied up man began babbling about assassins until he was blue in the face. Oran knocked him out with the butt of his dagger and, like a dragon, the proverbial smoke spewed from his nose as Oran rushed into Evune's face leaving only a breadth of air between. A thought that was ridiculous because he had never seen a dragon before. He had never seen an _angry_ dragon either. The heat of the smoke consumed him, like a memory, and he shuffled back. He flared out his hand and knocked Oran back when he charged allowing the human to stumble back in surprise. "You can call me Evunial of the Nazari." He lifted his hands in peace afterward. It was a reflex.

"Evunial the Dragon Tamer." The elder elf said humorously. "I have not heard that name in many years since my youth in Seheron.  _No_ elven parent would let their child be named that." His eyes read him then as the nameless warrior whose clan was either dead or he had been taken from it too early to be named.  "Give us your reason for being here." 

"I'm a simple slave--"

Oran hissed, his cheeks reddening."What is a  _slave_ doing out here?" 

His own cheeks twitched. This human was more annoying than sticky twigs stuck in your hair. And it wasn't easy admitting that out loud. Clearly, being contrite doesn't work with these people. "We're on the lookout for blood mages or the rumors of some."

"Blood mages?" the elder elf contorted his lips into disgust. "This wouldn't be a place to find them."

"I can tell by your markings." The word immediately tensed their shoulders and the human unfurled his teeth like a wild animal. He backtracked, "My mentor is looking into the disappearances of your friends--Liberati. The freed slaves.” 

" _Freed_ slaves but still slaves." Oran wet his lips like he was about to say something that he had wanted to speak for many days. "It's what they tell us as they force us into menial cheap labor and kidnap our children. No one cares whether we survive or if even our pay is enough to gather food to eat. But those aren't things you have to worry about anymore, is it?" 

Evune grappled with the words to convince him of Nanterius' intentions but even he did not know her reasons behind her actions. 

_"Behind you!"_

A dagger slid in his hand as he twisted around, his arm and hand catching around a man's wrist preventing him from stabbing into Evune's neck. The swordsman was dressed in light chainmail but was no ordinary civilian like the short stout man of earlier. Flicking the dagger, he sliced against the swordsman's hand and the heavy thing clattered to the stone flooring with the swordsman clutching a bleeding hand.

He had forgotten what it felt like to hold a weapon in his hand. The swordsman pulled a dagger out from his side and sliced the air by Evune's ear. The stone floor scratched his knees as he fell to them and wrapped his hands around the swordsman's ankles using the leverage to catch his legs on the other's shoulders. The swordsman fell to the ground under Evune's hit and gasped for air as the elf sat on his chest. They wore familiar crests on their light armor. It was the crests of Valens that he had seen briefly in his studies by the ocean.

"The empire won't--" Before another word, the butt end of the dagger cracked into his head silencing him. He turned to find Oran pacing, mumbling angrily as the elder elf outstretched his hand, pulling Evune up. Two more swordsmen laid spread out behind them dead from the wounds on their necks. Those armors didn't look like the standard armor set for a guardsmen. They dressed like pawns, like extras.

"Look what you've done." Oran shouted. "It took us weeks to get a lead and you've--" The elder elf sighed heavily, placing a heavy hand on Oran's irate shoulder, silencing his rant. The elder spoke instead, "It would appear that those men weren't after us, were they?"

Evune pursed his lips. “Not likely."

Oran paced behind the elder elf mumbling and clenching his hands to his side.

"We know little of our kidnapped brothers and sisters, and this man," the elf gestured towards the tied man, "was to be our answer. You may have ruined our chance at saving them."

"We know," Evune admitted, as an offering, "that the Valens have _employed_ Liberati and casteless. All of them have disappeared."

"The Valens?" The elder elf frowned. "We're worth more alive, or I once thought so." The elf clicked his tongue, "The landowners have kept mum on their missing farmhands but all their families have received missives. Apparently, they were hired by another and are no longer their responsibility."

"Paid off most the farmers. None will even meet with us but this one," Oran added, glaring down at the richly dressed man. He opened his palm towards Evune. "If your  _master_ is good at all, he'll stop these assholes. But I doubt you have a clue what you've gotten yourself into. Give me my dagger."

He dropped the dagger and without another backwards glance, Oran disappeared around the corner.

"I do know, you know." He said to the elder. "I'll have information the next time we meet. I'll make it up to you guys."

The elder elf smiled in that way he _hated_. The way a hahren looks when a child mistakenly sticks a round peg in a square slot. 

"Tomorrow at the port in the market.” He reached into his tunic and grabbed out Nanterius’ scroll. His fingers trembled for a moment and then steadied. He turned around and handed it to the elder elf. “I am only as good as a bed slave without that. Keep it in the meantime until we meet again.”

The elder elf took it and then gave a scrutinizing glance. “In one days’ time. I would also like to discuss with you your freedom."

 Evune was bewildered. When had he-- "I don't believe--

"Ah, you're not there yet." The elf nodded. "When you are, I will be here."

At the end, when he sought to understand how well it actually went. He felt that he had gained more in the bargain than them. The thought of freedom hadn't struck him yet, but why would he leave? In another time, he would've already run off, but he had  _matured_ , right?

 

But, running away had different connotations now. This time, he wasn't the child afraid of succeeding, of letting down his legacy but the nug caged in the merchant's shop. 

And if he ran. . .

 

* * *

 

 

The magisters and servants poured out from the building, all cloaked in a hood or hat of some sort. The town had emptied by the time the auction had ended and it left Evune to his thoughts. The mirror was a part of this. It was the only thing that linked the miners and Elvia but if Nanterius thought it was ridiculous he wasn't going to convince anyone else, much less Davan, who  _required_ proof to do anything.

 "Idiot."

"I get it."  

She crossed her arms. "Do you? Do you get how screwed you are right now? Davan is going to be so pissed."

"Deshanna." Evune gave her a begging expression.

 "Oh no. No. No. No. I'm not going to lie for you. Mythal spit on my grave." She spit on the ground next to them. "I lied for Linnae and look where that got me."

"It's only for a day."

"It's like you're asking for someone to _cut_ you!" She dropped down on the stoop beside him.  “Dollface and a group of armored Vints wearing the crest of Valens were the buyers. For all we know, that snake woman is already at the entrance waiting for us.”

“Did you--?”

"Please. You think far too little of me." He noted that she didn't tell him whether she did or didn't. Deshanna rolled on the balls of her feet, jumping up as quickly as she had sat down. “I’m going to start tracking Marcella’s movements. She went on that ship. We saw her. Probably one of the Templars.”

Evune pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anything about the blood mages?”

"Well, I sold the map. Eight thousand imperials."

"Less than we thought. And the blood mages?" 

"It was a fake."

"More than it's worth. Like those blood mages?"

"No blood mages." Deshanna pushed up Evune’s sleeves and looked at lines of scabs along his arm. Evune winced. "Marcella probably planned this."

"For us to run into the Liberati." He tossed back.  The cloth pulled at the wound. Her fingers tickled and a cool soothing balm swept across the wound. The pain had eased into slight discomfort. “I’ve been near lyrium potions before and that never happened.”

“I checked the paddle. It was only the Rune of Speech. Not like some summoner of Tevinter darkness or something.”

"Or something." Evune wanted to tell her about the voice in his head. But it hadn't spoken since. If it spoke again, he swore, he would tell someone but not now. He was already becoming far too much trouble.

"I've seen what Tevinter does to their slaves. There's a reason why Linnae snapped and killed our clan as fucked up as it was." Deshanna tightened her mouth.

"No one ever told me why. A dragon was how the Tevinter found you but--"

Deshanna's eyes pulled away. "After we were saved, a few handsy Templars bothered our clanmates. Healers no less."

"And he killed them?"

"No, his anger was too strong and his magic was twisted by then. He killed most of the survivors in the room and the rest fought against him."

Evune had nothing comforting to say. "I'm sorry."

 "Be careful is all I ask."

"I'm not any less a slave today than I was yesterday." Evune returned. "You know these Liberati could help us. They need our help."

"I know." 

 

 

When he woke up, he found himself in the middle of a long corridor. The corridor was built of white, black, and gold granite. The ceiling were great big domes where the sun fell through. He walked through the corridor, only hearing the echoes of his footsteps tapping and the cool touch against his heels. He lifted up his arms and thin transparent satin laid on his skin. The fabric as smooth as water but as light as air. It reminded him of his mother’s music box and when she danced in the sun.

            A brief voice tickled in his ear but he rubbed against it. It disappeared. Corridors of light speared in front of him as if all the light was searching for an avenue to push through. He reached the end of the corridor where golden double doors stood to a height three tall humans could not match even if they stood on each other’s shoulders. When the door swept open, the Archon, Tarsian stood on the other side. He wasn’t wearing his usual attire and was dressed in a slightly thicker, less transparent, black fabric similar to Evune’s.

His hand outstretched and when Evune grasped onto it tightly, he walked Evune to a wide seat carved out from pure stone, metal, and granite with silver gold sparkling on the outline. He slid into the seat and then pulled Evune into his lap.

He pulled Evune’s hand to his lips and trailed kisses from his wrist to his nipples taking the time to bite and lick over and over again. He pressed forward and their lips met carefully with their tongues twisting, twining around as they tasted each other. He pulled Evune closer as if he was thirsty and Evune was water meant to satiate. His hardness, immovable against Evune’s ass, rubbed back and forth like a pendulum.

It felt like he was out of his body and disconnected from pain so that all he felt was electricity. He could feel Tarsian's hardened thickness slip over his hole and make him wet--the stretch of arousal as solid as any other limb.

He twisted Evune’s body around with fingers pressing tight on his skin and Tarsian leaned up, lifting up out of his throne, flipping the robe over, and pressed into Evune, kissing along his neck to his shoulder as the other groaned feeling his thick press ever deeper. He settled inside him, thick and pulsing, stealing his breath, and Evune rolled his hips to take _more_ of it. 

“Brother, you are welcome to join.”

 _“_ _Mar rodhe ir’on(You taste delicious).”_

His whimpers hit his ears faster than the sight of Davan fell into his eyes. His eyes jumped to Davan who wore no shirt but black red pants as if he were sleeping only moments earlier.

The heavy steps pounded in his chest as Tarsian yanked Evune forward and back, thrusting in and out with slow purpose, dragging out until his tip nearly slipped away only to ram back in again squeezing inside him. Davan lifted up Evune’s head, tilting his face until he could slip his mouth against Evune’s. His lips mapping his mouth and tongue. His taste far sweeter. Davan pulled down his pants only so far that his hardness laid above his pants. He moved closer, lowering Evune’s head until it met Evune’s lips. He pressed in until it slipped between Evune’s lips and rocked back and forth, moving his hold on Evune’s head to his nape. He thrust in and out of Evune’s mouth in sync with Tarsian’s sharp thrusts. His hardness thickening and stretching until it pressed against the inside of Evune’s cheeks distending it. Tarsian bent forward and whispered, “Aren’t you beautiful? Full of me and my brother. Don’t you want this always?” His fingers brushed his cheek pressing against it.

Evune’s eyes watered but his throat jumped and began to suck, to swirl against the hardness in his mouth.

“Good. Harder.” Tarsian whispered. He dropped his hands and tightened them against Evune’s hips and thrust in again. Davan groaned and Evune swallowed harder, pressing his tongue against the bottom of his hardness as Tarsian pressed a hand to Evune’s soaked front. He pulled and pressed in and Evune felt full from all angles, in every way. Tarsian’s finger slipped up around and the satin, dragging it against his heat.

Tarsian began to speed up as Davan’s groaning became louder and Evune swallowing turned to suction. Davan pulled himself loose and spilled over Evune’s lips and nose as Tarsian released deep inside Evune. Tarsian pulled Evune flat against his front, touching and feeling up and down Evune’s legs with his fingertips leaving imprints of heat behind.

The gold of the throne sparkled out from the corner of Evune’s eye and pulled his attention. He graced his fingers along the edges.

 _“Ar unvena ma(I found you).”_ the words spoke to him.

He _yearned_ for it.

He wanted the throne.

 

 

                                                                          

* * *

 

 

 

He woke up from the dream sweating and his clothing drenched. He quickly changed his clothing and folding his clothing away into a corner to be handled _later_. He touched his lips and could still feel the taste of Tarsian and Davan. And when he looked at his hands, he could remember the feeling of the gold underneath his hands. His hands shaking, he pressed it up to his temple wiping the sweat from his brow. He wasn’t sure which terrified him more. His desire of the brothers—without even knowing which—or the _want_ of that chair.

_And that voice. . .?_

He fell back to bed, asleep, shoving these thoughts to the deepest corners of his mind.  He may have only slept a few hours before Cairn woke him up for breakfast.

“I hear you had a busy night.” Nanterius, already dressed and prepared for the day, buttered and put some sort of thick gelatin on top of a bread slice.

Evune bit his tongue and then winced. “I've never wanted it--the gold and the--”

“Cairn tells me we had a late night visitor.” Nanterius raised a brow and she gave a quizzical expression. Evune had spoken too much about something she knew nothing of, and she wouldn't. It was a dream.

_An awful but realistic dream._

Evune internally breathed out in relief. “We found the map the blood mage was using to find the Hand of Thoth.."

"Good." Nanterius slid her knife against the toasted bread, the swift sound of it scraping underneath disconcerted Evune. It reminded him of the sharp scrape of armor in battle. Dead bodies. Blood. Empty carcasses. Blank eyes. The endless images blinked away and Evune was sucked back into the quaint dining table. The scraping ended. "If you have, then presume Elvia is a step ahead."

"The merchant who held it is on the run from Elvia."

Nanterius paused. "And what did you give him in payment."

"I don't have much--

"You don't  _have_ anything." Nanterius cut in. Her eyes narrowed on him. "What did you give him?"

"The offer of--" Evune hesitated with the words stumbling in his throat, "The merchant wanted to be your apprentice. And I told him--"

“No. Correct? Because I know you wouldn't be so foolish as to speak on behalf of me. ” Nanterius laid her chin on her interlocked hands, dropping the knife on her napkin. “Clever bargaining. You must have a silverite tongue. Did you get his name?”

Carin’s voice echoed in his head, _"It's just—sometimes, I really wish you were a mage. Then you'd understand."_ The sound of the sword's tip squelching against bone stood more clear in his mind. He took a large bite out of the gruel to hide the reaction. 

"I told him you would accept." The words stilled the room and the increased tension stopped. It froze, like the time it sat in.

"Indeed." Nanterius said, and a small smile pulled across her face like a smithy's bending chestplate. "Although, making promises under another isn't helpful if you can't enforce it. Tell me, what would you do if I said no?"

"I--the Lavellan clan," Evune started. His mind static with panic as he tried to figure out how to fix this. "I thought you--

"You thought. You thought. And yet, where did the thinking begin? Did it end before it started." Her words were coarse and rough like tweeded yarn. Her knife clattered against the wood as it slid from the napkin to the floor and the nearest servant ran over to pick it up, briefly leaving the room before coming back with a new one on a new napkin. Nanterius slid back into her chair with the new knife back in her hand. Her voice still leveled. "His clan name, if you will."

"Zinovia." Evune answered. He couldn't look into her eyes when she stared like she did--unblinkingly and heavy with threat.

Nanterius dabbed her mouth with a cloth before huffing out a stilted sound. Evune half-believed it was a laugh but her brows were still furrowed. Her fingers twitched once which was more expressive than he had ever seen her gesture. He believed he was safe. “Your trainer is already outside by the shed. You would do well to give her your complete respect. Understood?”

Evune nodded carefully. He was afraid to react any more than necessary or to say any more than necessary. 

“I’ve only heard of her in passing, but she is highly respected in the underground arenas. And, as I hear it, hunting skills won't defeat a warrior caste dwarf.”

 A hand pulled against his chin, Nanterius' eyes bore into his own as her cold fingers held him. "Apologies are for those who cannot prevent failure. Apologies are for those who cannot premeditate failure. If there is one thing you will learn from me and the Imperium is that failure is not an option." Her fingers pulled away from his chin.

Evune swallowed harshly. "I will make it up to you."

"Oh, you will." Nanterius said. She brushed a light hand, smoothing down her hair as she turned away to leave. "You will either be a help or a hindrance to the future of Tevinter. The strings will unravel and only the cold, beating heart of the inside will remain."

Evune recognized the threat from his readings.

Revenants were demons born out of long-lived and powerful Desire or Pride demons. Underneath their armor and the weavings of flesh was a heart that held the most purifying and pure properties of any creature, and, when used correctly, could slaughter a whole castle of demons. The only thing that would remain, Nanterius warned, would be what was valuable. And if she found him any less. . .he would be thrown out with the excess.

"Evunial of Nazari?" One of the servant's leaned over his shoulder. Evune clenched his hand to pace his breathing as the man fidgeted, nervously, not saying a word.

He looked out the window and watched as Nanterius entered her carriage. "Does Nanterius--?"

"No, sir!" He bowed deeply. Without looking at Evune, he spoke lowly. "The resistance told me to give you their code."

Oran and the Elder, who never gave out his name, must have more information on the kidnapped Liberati. Thank Mythal. He needed the mental reprieve. "Yes?"

"To each his own in the Dragon's dome." He reached over the table, taking the leftovers, and rushing back into the kitchen.

Perhaps, if he could solve the Liberati disappearances before Nanterius, she may forgive him yet. 

 

                                                                        

* * *

 

 

He wrote a quick missive to Arnarel about Kellis, then a side note for Kellis to make him aware of Nanterius' mood. Kellis would have to earn her respect to gain his own in the Magisterium but he would be an apprentice.  He sent another for Deshanna to hand off the map to Davan; hopefully, Davan already knew someone who could look it over.

Cairn took the first message but Evune sent Davan's message through Ivo, the servant who knew of the Resistance. The clock struck a good time before midday. So, with a quick step out, Evune was off back to the Vyrantium Forum.

He needed to learn what had worked in the past with his people and what had not if they were ever going to pull themselves out from the thumb of slavery. He believed the name's of the landowner's who had lost their workers would be there as well.

The Forum was a circular building with only one level. A young woman with scrolls stuffed in her arms fumbled around before rushing down the halls and Evune trailed a distance behind her. Those scrolls she carried looked like records with numbers filling up their sides and he needed to see when the Liberati disappearances began.

The lights flickered on in the otherwise dark windowless halls that the woman ran into. Evune trailed behind the woman only to screech to a halt when she ran into a small room instead. Voices and footsteps echoed behind him. He swiveled around searching for an open place only to see a statue and its large shadow.

"That woman needs to be dealt with." The man that had spoken, he remembered, was called Crallius. His back held tight against the wall in the shadow. He didn't move. He held his breath as his hair twisted and stuffed behind the statue out of sight. 

"We must tread carefully. The Templar seems to be in the middle of it all. Perhaps the Divine is not as pleased as we believed." The one who replied was the other man who had argued with Nanterius. The other men and women, five total, trailed behind the first two. These other three weren't at the meeting and were likely not representatives of Vyrantium like the first two. The door of the room clicked shut behind them and Evune crouched to the ground, creeping across the walls quietly until he could press his ear against the door. A fringe of his hair caught against the statue but he couldn't pull it out without missing half the conversation. He couldn't see who was speaking.

"How will it be done?"

"It will have to be clean. No evidence."

"We should wait."

"She needs to be killed before the Proving. It simply must be done."

Evune hand almost slipped against the door. His twist of hair yanked against the statue and its glove shrieked against the stone wall. The voices in the room hushed as he crept away from the door and only made it so far as the Forum steps when his way was blocked.

"I don't remember asking you to meet me here." Nanterius' crisp voice sounded. Three women and a man stepped out from her carriage. They entered the forum leaving Nanterius and him alone on the Forum's steps.

Evune answered, quickly, "I was researching."

"Researching." Nanterius repeated calmly. "Did you _meet_ anyone as you researched?"

Evune felt his adrenaline shriek in his ear as the echo of the statue's steel gloves rang in his ears. "I heard them." 

A wide grin stretched across Nanterius' face and she dropped a hand against his shoulder. "I know."

"I--What?" Evune turned his head around before sweeping back to stare at Nanterius as if he could restart the conversation. "They want to k--"

"Let them try." Nanterius replied.

 Evune grasped for a reply but came up empty. Nanterius, though, seemed rather pleased. "For a moment, I was afraid you were working against me."

"No, Nanterius, I would never--

"I know, but trusting isn't something done in Tevinter. You understand?"

He wanted to say, 'No'. He felt the adrenaline yanking at his insides as he held in breathing for too long and started gasping.

"This is not the first time for me, but, for you--isn't it time for your training?" And Nanterius brushed by him without another word.

 He sat in the carriage and heard nothing from the outside. The threats, the politics, the hate and the arguments, Nanterius was enjoying this. This was just another reminder that Seheron had not prepared him for this world. Nothing may have ever prepared him for this.

Cairn snapped the reins and the dracolisks bolted forward.

 

* * *

 

 

The space behind Nanterius’ house was a wide barricaded lot. Plants, both beautiful and deadly, slithered around the gates like smoke. Everything behind the house was blocked from curious viewers and passerbys who had no key to the back and so he had never paid it much mind. Now he could see the wide space was entirely empty of anything but the dracolisk sheds and the woman Nanterius spoke of. He could easily say that there were no simple words to describe the woman.

The woman was definitely taller than Tarsian and likely even taller than Davan. Her horns broken in half with remains still sticking out her black hair sat with gold circlets. Even with her eyes closed, her neck and shoulder loose but her arms and legs tense, she didn’t move at the sound of his footsteps. He expected a trained mercenary but she wore knitted clothing missing all the extravagance and the coldness natural to Tevinter. “Evune, I gather.” The woman opened her eyes—a golden honey brown. She tilted her head and her skin like sard and platinum disappeared.

She was gone.

Evune squinted his eyes. He twisted around and rolled across the grass when a heavy indent crashed into the ground where he once stood. And the woman now in that spot. She rubbed her nose. “Much faster than I expected. You’ll need to be with how tiny you are.”

Evune pushed himself up and dusted off his leggings. “And your name is?”

“Sareethi.”

“A Tal-Vashoth?” the words bitter on his tongue. He did not actually know what the word meant.

Sareethi said grimly, “Only a Vashoth."

"But--?"

The Qunari woman spun around and grazed the tip of his shoulder. A thin line of blood and a cut in his shirt was made. "The more we train, the more we speak. Show me how fast you are." When the woman swung again, Evune slid past the blade. He noted that she wasn't using a dull blade. Nanterius hadn't been kidding. This was no ordinary trainer like his father had him deal with.

"My parents were shipped here as slaves and won their freedom." The woman repeated the swift bladed jab of before and then twisted around to butt the pommel into his shoulder. The force of it pushed him back but he could tell she was holding back. "Love is not permitted in Par Vollen."

Evune repeated the words his father told him once, "Warriors cannot love if they love their village first." and dodged the repeated jab followed by the pommel strike only to be hit with a sharp kick behind his knees. Evune fell to the ground clenching the grass. The trainer was far faster and more precise than most fighters. There was a hidden deadliness to her precision that Fog Warriors lacked, or, rather, his clan members lacked. It made him wonder that if it hadn't been Tevinter, the Qunari, even the politics, then they would've died out by some other unknown enemy. It was a monstrous thought. He stuffed it away. 

"As the child of two former Qunaris, never having seen Par Vollen, this is what they call us.”

Instead of dodging the pommel strike, he allowed it to hit him. The strike surprised her and he crouched to the ground swinging out his leg to trip the Qunari. She lost her step and her balance. “You’re like my people, the Fog Warriors then. We live outside the Dalish and the city elves with a culture that is never entirely our own.”

“Indeed, it sounds similar but also nothing at all.” Sareethi dusted herself off and stood back up. She gave him a quick nod. He wasn't sure, but he might've just won her approval. “Tell me, what skills do you have?”

Evune shook his head. “Not many. I know how to shoot a bow and how to hold both a dagger and longsword but not very well.”

“Your mentor asked that I sharpen your peripherals. You've done well."

"I did get a hit in."

Sareethi continued speaking, ignoring him, "Put on your chest armor.”

Training with Sareethi was like a breath of fresh air. He didn’t want to think about his dream and the attempt on Nanterius' life. All he wanted to, all he ever wanted to do, was live free to make decisions outside of Arlathan and the Nazari. He collapsed on his side, panting with sweat falling down his face. Sareethi blew a wisp of hair out from her eye.

“It’s not even sunset yet.” Sareethi said. Evune fell to the grass, exhausted, and waved a surrender. "Fine, a small break." She untied a small pouch on her side and pulled out a sharpening stone.

"You fought me with a sharp blade." Evune said, almost in disbelief.

"If it wasn't dull, why would you think it wouldn't be sharp?"

"Is Nanterius trying to kill me?" Evune said, half humorous.

"Not today." Sareethi added, while her blade clicked against the sharpening stone. "Besides, you'll dodge slow if it doesn't hurt. You wouldn't survive Southender's sparring range without this training. I went easy."

He pushed himself up. His arms trembling at his weight and its use. "You must know this area well then. I've never heard of those people."

"I do and it's good that you don't."

"You must've heard about the Liberati disappearances then."

Sareethi sniffed. "I have only heard of Altus Nyx losing two farmhands."

"Would it happen to be close? The farm."

"Perhaps," Sareethi said, carefully, still focused on sharpening her blade, "but if we are to travel you will run in paces. No stopping."

 

 

"You," Evune hunched over his knees, breathing loudly."You said it was close."

"It is." Sareethi said, as they reached the hill. "You're closer to the ground than I."

And short people jokes. He missed those like he missed drowning in the water--which was not at all. The jog to the farm was only about as painful as being tossed over a waterfall but the sharp sense of dislike and 'do not want to do' was powerful. He collapsed catching sight of the farm below. "I don't know how I'm not dead."

"Luck. And no one said you were done."

Evune groaned as he pushed himself up again, wobbling upward so slowly that Sareethi helped him stand. Down the hill towards the small plot of land, the outer lands bordering Vyrantium were spread with fields of what looked like wheat and multicolored fruit. They reached the barn first without spotting any farmhands, equipment, or even harvest crops.

"It's not right." She pulled open the barn door and saw that it was completely empty. Evune slid in behind her and saw the empty barn, much like a larger version of Nanterius' shed.

"Where is he?"

Sareethi growled. "Good question." She slammed the barn door shut and walked towards the field. Evune let her wander out towards the field empty of crop and recently planted as he searched the field closest to the barn. He pushed through the stalks of wheat and some other vegetable bright yellow and black. His foot knocked into something and he tripped over it, falling on top of it. His hands smacked into a body and he reared back. The person, gasping, had blood falling from his lips.

Evune leaned forward. "What happened?"

The man grappled his hands to his side, groaning, his words incoherent. Evune followed his pointed fingers and felt around, quickly, for something, anything, when his hand fell over a flask. He yanked it back over to the man and twisted off the top, pouring it down the man's throat. The man coughed, blood spewing on the grass as he rolled over. His breathing cleared. "Who--What are you doing here?"

"Are you a farmhand?"

The man shook his head. "I'm the owner. Nyx." He stood up, unsteadily. "You didn't answer my question."

"Liberati are disappearing. I'm trying to find out why."

"At least someone is." The man wobbled through the field and stopped at the barn. He pulled the door open and then fell to his knees. "They took all of it. Vishante Kaffas, I knew they weren't to be trusted."

"Who?"

"I don't know. They came in asking for some of my farmhands and I thought nothing of it, they paid, but when they never returned--

"None of them."

"I only had two." The man winced. He pressed a hand against his side and then raised his shirt showing a thick wound on his side healing--the blood already drying. "Their families contacted me. When they came back, those men, I told them no and then they threatened me. I sent my laborers home and then I was attacked from behind."

Evune felt a tickle in the back of his mind. A feeling, as it were, that Altus Nyx was not truthful. "To each his own in the Dragon's dome"

The Altus twitched. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean."

"I believe that you do." Evune prayed to the gods and the Maker, hoping that he was correct in his assumption. "I believe you're the Liberati's informant."

"Wait, quiet down," Nyx hushed, gesturing his hands, looking around, "This isn't something you merely spring on someone."

"There's no one here."

"There's always someone. Each time I've heard someone tell me, they disappear!" Nyx hissed. "Well, I have nothing to say. But if you care about your life you will keep out of the Valens way."

"I'm already in their crosshairs."

Nyx glanced him over. "And you're still alive. How'd you even figure me out?"

"A landowner who goes to a fighting arena and befriends Qunari don't regularly help their worker's families." 

"That obvious, eh?"

"To an outsider."

Sareethi came barrelling in at that moment. Fire on her heels and the harsh swallow of Altus Nyx, she yanked the man up slamming him against the barn. "Where is he?" She snarled.

"At the mainhouse. He's safe. I swear. I swear it!" Sareethi dropped him to the ground.

"Your lessons are done for the day." Sareethi said without another backward glance and disappeared over the hill.

"You better leave as well. You won't be safe from them." The man coughed.

"Do you know why she's doing this?"

"They said something about slave marks. It's all I know."

Evune tilted his head. Slave marks? He touched his cheek.

"Ah, but there was one strange thing." Nyx sniffed. "Anali, one of my farmhands, was returned."

"Why?"

Nyx rubbed his chin. "Apparently, she had a cold."

 

* * *

 

Time had flown by quickly and by sunset he was reminded of one more thing he had to do for the day. To meet with the Liberati.

When Evune reached the courtyard, Cairn burst out from the door shouting while waving a missive, “Evune, sir, sir!” Evune reached the porch and snatched the message out from his hand. The looped cursive on the front stated, “Evunial of the Nazari.” He broke open the letter:

 

            As a gesture of good faith, we ask that you desist your movements and measures against the Valens clan and by extension the Consort Elvia and the Black Divine.

            In equal doses, there is always equal payment.

            Sincerely,

            The Valens.

 

Evune furrowed his brows and re-folded the letter. It shouldn't have bothered him that she used the very same words that Tarsian had used before. She couldn't have heard him. The window had been too small. He brushed it off as mere coincidence. For all he knew, it was a common Tevinter saying.

“Nanterius.” He tapped the message against the corner of his mouth and closed his eyes. He was about to do something very foolish. “Cairn, will you be able to deliver a message to the port?”

“To where, sir?”

“To Minrathous.”

"And, sir," Cairn said, slipping back from the entrance door, "I left the list of farmowner's that you requested on your desk."

"Did Nanterius see you? I wanted to ask her a question." He didn't, actually, but if Nanterius saw him--

"No, sir." With that, Cairn ran out the door barely sliding his hat on his head.

He opened the door to one of Nanterius’ unused offices and read the list. The list of farmowners weren't going to be recognized but it would list the specific Liberati kidnapped. To him, there had to be a pattern that the Liberati missed. Otherwise, why take farmhands and not the destitute or use your own slaves? As he read through the lists, unfortunately, they were very concise. The strangest thing he noticed was how it hadn't started until a few weeks ago. He flipped over the sheet and an extra piece of paper flapped in the air--it was stuck to the list of names. He carefully pulled the second sheet off that read, "Shipment Notices".

The lists of cargo stated the 'slave cargo' by name of owner rather than number of individuals, but the lists of Liberati and casteless were documented by age and health. He counted the numbers against the missing farmhands but it didn't match. The strangest thing as well is that at first a few humans were taken but immediately it stopped. For the most part, it was all dwarves and elves--mostly elves.

"A cold." A simple cold wouldn't be enough to dock a worker but when he counted the number of healthy members to ill, the numbers  _nearly_ matched. But there was something he was missing. What happened a few weeks ago?

The Hole Competition? The arrival of the Archon?

He didn't think it was going to work but he had little to no information. Searching around Nanterius' library, he wanted to see her shipment notices. They hadn't been updated since she arrived but they should have the week before she arrived which was about the time the competition began. On the notices, it had three shipments listed for Vyrantium from Seheron.

All the shipments on those days matched. In fact, it didn't make any sense at all that Nanterius hadn't known about the missing Liberati. A large number of them had already gone missing by the time she left. They were capturing healthy Liberati shipped from Seheron. But there couldn't be many. They must've run out by now and hence why they started with farmhands. 

A loud knocking struck the front door and the chair screeched behind him.  He pulled open the door and said, “Nanterius, thank the gods, I was—" It was not Nanterius.

“You’ll get bugs that way, I’m sure.” Dressed in his typical thick robes and large triangular hat, was Tarsian. His head dipped through the doorway, taking a look around Nanterius' home. “Are you going to let me in?”

Evune bulleted out the way unable to verbalize a response. His mind had turned to static. “There are guards outside. And Nanterius is off dealing with some unruly magisters as we speak.” He pulled off his hat and his robes, dropping them on the staircase railings. “I read your message. Did you really think I would dash off to here at your behest?”

He snapped back into real time at the question. “No, I wanted to make you aware that I was worried about Marcella. I hear she never made it to Minrathous.” He closed the door and then clasped his hands in front of him.

Tarsian snorted. “And you’re the designated protector of the Hole members now?”

“I would like to think I am. Yes.” Evune scrunched his nose. “I just don’t understand how you got here so quickly.”

“I am here to prevent the assassination of a prized magistra.” Tarsian leaned forward mischievously. “Your mentor. The clever woman already knew that, though. I reached the port last night. Imagine my surprise at receiving your note.”

_“He lies.”_

_Tarsian wouldn’t lie to me about Elvia. He hates her more than I do._

_“So he says. . .”_

_Leave me._

Evune snapped his mouth shut and then turned away. Demons were good at manipulation. He already knew this. “She’s not my mentor. We have a friendly relationship but our professional and personal lives are separate. She has an apprentice now.”

“I notice there’s no surprise at the assassination attempt.”

Evune pursed his lips, clasping his hands tighter.

“Her words have brought the ire of--

“Why are you here?” Evune questioned. He tightened his clasped hands until he could feel the pricking edges of his nails. “There are a thousand and one magisters. Nanterius is upper on the scale but there are higher ones. Her death wouldn't mar you in any way.”  It would only injure Evune, and he wasn't sure that mattered to Tarsian. Not yet.

"She is the only thing standing between you and Elvia currently. My standing, of course, withstanding."

The demon whispered.  _"He's using you."_

_I don’t need your affirmations._

_“It helps, though, doesn’t it?”_

_They're all using me. It wouldn't make sense for him not to. Still, he likes me. He likes my presence and our conversations._

The demon snorted.

“You’ve been reading. You should know that there's a hundred and one Altus but few Magisters.” Tarsian said distastefully. His hands wrapped around Evune's shoulders before his nose nudged against Evune's ears, pressing a kiss. "I told you that I would handle things. You should've come with me on the boat." His hands drop down his chest to his hips, holding him in place.

Evune stayed in his arms. The cold chill against his skin melted off. He imagined it much like a lizard losing its skin before gaining a new, fresh layer. Part of him wanted to know that if he broke away, would Tarsian let him go? The other didn't. . . "And be there with Elvia? To make it even more known that I'm only a warm slot to slide in.

"You know you're more than that. You're the future." Tarsian whispered beside his ear. The warmth tickling him.

Evune closed his eyes. “You’re a distraction. Elvia asked you to distract me.”

“You never care about the actual words you say, do you?” Tarsian pulled away. "She only asked that I find out where your  _host_ is. She's refusing to give Minrathous aid. There's nothing wrong about asking the Praetor what's changed. The only difference between before and now that Elvia sees is--

Tarsian left the sentence hanging in the air knowing that Evune would understand. Evune stayed silent again. He gestured to the kitchen before sweeping down the hall. "Did you know Liberati were disappearing?"

"Should I?" Tarsian replied and at Evune's glared he backtracked. "Such matters are not my responsibility."

"They should be."

"And here I came trying to protect you. My apologies, my liege."

“Like you protected Arnarel." 

His shoulders tensed and he shook his head. "He agreed to help his family. It was a shared contract, an equivalent exchange."

Evune retorted. "His life for a promise? An eternity for a moment? This sounds fair to you."

"It's not always fair, but he gets to live. Besides, there wasn't a choice. I didn't trust him."

Evune tightened his eyes and leaned forward. "You think he trusted you?"

Tarsian twisted his lips. "Are we arguing my morality again?"

Evune scoffed. He walked back to the table. His peripheral catching the sharp glint out the window. "He told you Davan and Deshanna were leaving Minrathous before coming here, didn't he?"

"Yes. I worried your ignorance of Tevinter would get you in trouble.” The Archon said before his eyes jumped from his face to the window. "You could've just stayed with me. Kept to one side. These motions and gestures aren't easy choices. One false step can kill you and Vyrantium is a pawn. Minrathous is the finish line. _You_ are the finish line."

Evune spread his arms on the table and leaned forward against it. The wide window in the dining room filled half the wall. He faced the window watching as the orange and blue of the sky melded into black and blue behind the curtains. The whole room fell into darkness as soon as the sun set.

He heard the window’s glass shatter and his shoulder flung back at the strength of what felt cold spearing deep from one end to the next. He felt his breath punch out his lungs and the edges of his vision filled with shadows until his back hit the floor.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly macabre. Uncomfortable suggestive content.

 

It sounded like he was drowning—these echoes in his ears and the warbled voices. His eyelids were too heavy to open. His arms held an infinite weight that only seemed to increase the longer he thought about it.

Where was he?

He started walking, or rather sliding, but he couldn’t feel his legs moving. Tossing his head left and right, his vision only caught blurry outlines of people, of objects, of _things_. These things were floating red sacs with people inside them and they were the clearest things he could see. They kept moving him along this long hallway of people that appeared to be sleeping. One of them mumbled beside him and then covered his mouth, his nose.

Everything faded out.

When he awoke again, his vision cleared in seconds. He stretched his arms and his legs but they laid still. They were bound against a stone slab where his body sat. He shivered against the cold stone on his bare skin. All his clothes were missing. His entire body was immobile except for his neck and his head. He could only see part of the room—this laboratory. There were no red sacs or others in this room. But from floor to wall were drawings, numbers, and equations mapping out and filling out the crevices of the white sheets. Glass flasks, torches, and a chimney, likely sitting atop a stove,

“You’ve awaken.”

Evune twisted his neck to see a man in a long black robe and a half-mask with a curved nose, like a vulture. His white grin stretched across his face as he pinched his fingers along Evune’s arms.

“We’ve heard some interesting things about you. Most of it is speculation, I’m sure, but,” the man leaned to the right of the stone. Evune saw a table full of utensils: sharp, dull, metal, screws, hammers, and knives. He picked up a scalpel and scrutinized it while he continued to pinch the thickest vein in Evune’s arm. “Curiosity was always my strongest weakness.”

“You’re the reason people are disappearing.”  Evune gritted his teeth.

“Perhaps.” The man said with his words lingering in the air.

“I’m owned by the Archon. You can’t do this.”

The man laughed. “You are owned by whoever has the most power, and, let me be straight with you, the Archon is not the one pulling the strings in the Imperium. Although, I guess this pertains to all people not just slaves.” The man gave a heavy sigh and put the scalpel back on the table to Evune’s relief.

Evune heaved his arms, as if he could somehow break the invisible bonds, and then tried with his legs pulling at the cords until he gasped for air. The man walked across the lab to the desk covered in books and quills as a tied-up, drugged person was the most natural thing he'd ever seen. This was normal, habitual to this man.  Evune breathed out, “There’s no reason you have to do this.”

“I would have to argue that.” The man said as his fingers flipped through the pages of a book on his desk. “Blood magic has infinite possibilities and you mix that with lyrium, well, even the Qunari will start to look like our dumb neighbors in the south. Elvia is trying to revolutionize the Imperium for both mages and non-mages. A change that is long overdue.”

“You’re _not_ a mage then.”

“I am a mathematician, a man of the sciences and knowledge of the four houses of magic, and a doctor of advanced medical degree, but, no, I’m no mage.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

The doctor sighed.  He moved over to his station of beakers of varying sizes and filled with various liquids. He lit a small controlled flame underneath the beakers and twisted its knobs. “I’ve been testing your blood for the last few days. It’s absolutely fascinating. To think, Elvia wanted to simply brain you and throw your body in the streets.”

Evune trembled on the stone and exhaled sharply. The smell of burnt minerals and dry salt floated in the air. The doctor, clinking around glasses, walked over with a beaker in hand. “Look at this.” He shook the beaker filled with blood and a blue, shimmering liquid. “Your blood actively separates from lyrium unlike any other blood I’ve ever tested. I’ve even tried it with other elven blood like those city elves, the Dalish.  I thought it was limited to your people then, the Fog Warriors, but nothing. None of them!”

The doctor placed a cork on the beaker and then tipped it upside down to upside up. The blue liquid swirled and twisted around the red as if the tendrils were attacking the red, then, the red began filling up the beaker.

The blue liquid disappeared.

The doctor moved it closer to Evune’s line of vision. “Your blood when mixed with Lyrium _destroys_ it. I imagine you have an immunity to lyrium like dwarves but not quite. Dwarven blood never consumes lyrium.”

“Amazing.” Evune sarcastically said. 

The doctor clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You should be thankful. This makes you valuable.”

A loud knock struck the door. The doctor swiveled around and creaked open the door.

“He wishes to speak with you, Dr. Porenni.” A woman’s voice whispered.

Dr. Porenni tapped against the thick metal walls of the laboratory and then sighed loudly. “Fine.” He strode over to the utensil tray, snatched up the scalpel, and sliced a long line across Evune’s arm.

Evune slammed his eyes closed and cursed. Dr. Porenni moved his arm and placed a stone bowl underneath, his blood draining into it. The doctor, without another word, slammed the door shut behind him.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

His eyes flitted closed.

He couldn’t stay here.

He was going to die.

An unrecordable amount of time past before the door creaked open and then slammed closed. A sallow-looking man with thin shoulders slinked in. His cheeks sucked in and his lips paled. Evune had a feeling he looked something like that now.

Dr. Porenni came up from behind. “Don’t drain the elf. I would prefer him _alive_.”

The pale man’s eyes stared piercingly into Evune’s. Evune broke eye contact and stared up at the ceiling.

The door slammed shut again. Clothing rustled as measured, almost careful, footsteps crept closer. Evune felt his arm move to lay on his stomach.

“There’s no use in draining you like a cow.” The man said. His fingers light as if disgusted by having to touch his arm at all. But then his hand froze and moved flat against Evune’s stomach.

Evune moved his eyes to the man before watching the man swallow harshly, snatching his hand away. The pale man’s sleeves pulled down showing the scratches and marks of a blood mage. His whole arm was littered with them.

 Evune asked carefully, “What will you do to me?”

“Never you mind. You won’t have control over your actions either way.”

Evune turned his head to the man. He shoved down the voice that argued with him and told him to think carefully. He shoved it down until all he could hear was his mother’s music box. “There’s no reason you can’t allow me a little control beforehand.”

The pale man gritted his teeth. His hands shook like an alcoholic grasping in the air for a bottle of ale. “No.”

“I don’t need to be puppeted to be interested.”

The pale man fidgeted in his spot. He said, “That’s not why. It’s for the Consort.”

“Then she won’t care.” Evune tried to imagine what Elvia would do, what she would say. “It’s only a little taste. One stone two birds.”

“The doctor needs your blood. I can’t—

“And how would he know? I won’t stop bleeding anytime soon. He wouldn’t like the waste.”

The man leaned forward and Evune closed his eyes as he pressed his mouth to his. Evune was glad to know there was no stench, although the man had the strange taste of rock and metal. The man yanked his face away, only an inch away, but close enough Evune to hear him mutter, “No. No. No.”

“Wouldn’t you like to touch me?” Evune said, internally he laughed hysterically and shoved down the sharp spike of adrenaline. His heart was pounding in his chest. “I would like to.”

The man put his hand above Evune’s lips and went still. He didn’t move. Evune pushed his head up and licked his fingers, pretending they were something sweet. The man groaned and pushed his finger in as Evune sucked. He twisted his tongue around and sucked harder before pulling away with a pop.

“You could have a taste.” Evune moved his gaze from the man’s to his arm and the pale man trembled. His eyes following the trail to the blood smeared on his arm.

The man lifted up onto the slab of stone and brushed his hands on either of Evune. Like a gasp of fresh air, his arms were free from their bindings.

But not his legs.

The man leaned down and held onto Evune’s chin as he pressed his tongue inside. The man was, albeit pale was not skinny or small but the natural weight of a human, heavy. Evune lifted up his arms to grapple his robes but the man slammed his arms down, muttering again, “No. No. The demon says I’m an idiot. But I’m not. They’re wrong.”

“Of course they are.” Evune gently chided. He winced from the pain but continued, “I have no weapons, no clothing, while you hold all the power.”

“I’m not an idiot. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.” He rocked back and forth as if lost in his own thoughts again.

“You only wish for me to be willing. And wouldn’t I be if my legs were free.” Evune lifted up his arms, far more slowly and carefully this time, moving the man a little closer. He said lowly, “I would like to wrap around you.”

The pale man shivered. He didn’t move.

Evune dropped his head back and sighed. “If you don’t, I understand. You can do what the Doctor told you. He knows best after all.”

“He thinks I’m a beast with no control. He’s wrong. I’m not broken. I’m better than that accursed elf. I’m not dead.”

The man fell forward. The full weight of him pressing down Evune. He slid a hand along Evune’s hip until Evune could feel a tingling in his legs. His toes moved but his legs were heavy with numbness.

Evune breathed out and then lifted his arm as the man twisted his head to put his ear on Evune’s chest. The man yanked the arm and began licking the wound in loud, slurping noises that soured Evune’s stomach.

And for a moment, Evune thought it didn’t work. He thought the plan was all for nothing and his eyes jumped around for the nearest weapon when the sallow-faced man began to convulse. Evune clutched his hands tight around the man’s mouth as the man’s arms smacked into the rock slabs, a bone cracked, and his knees slammed down, another bone cracked.

The blood mage’s eyes filled with a white film. He finally stopped moving. And, for a moment, Evune imagined he saw blue markings flash on his skin. He rubbed his eyes and the markings were gone.

Evune shoved the lifeless body onto the floor and with great difficulty, lifted his legs over the side. The numbness in his legs ebbed away as he stood up. He bit his lip, drawing blood, when he held in a shout of pain at the sudden smack of his foot on solid flooring.

Nausea swung up and hit his throat. He twisted over on his side and vomited until what little sat in his stomach was gone. And yet, even with the man dead, the disgust continued to spiral inside his intestines, weaving around like a parasite.

Something permanent had entrenched itself inside.

He searched around the lab for anything important. Proof that Elvia had planned this all. He searched through notes, ingredient lists, letters, and even in the trash pile.

Nothing.

He flipped over the book Dr. Porenni had been reading through earlier. The title was “Dwarves and Lyrium”. It must’ve been the one the doctor used in his studies and a page fell out.

“Ways to manipulate slave marks for better subordination.” Evune read aloud. It had a list of words written underneath and most of which were crossed out. He didn’t like the way it sounded. He tore out the pages the doctor had been reading and then ran to the dead mage, pulling off his shirt to put on himself. The shirt wore like a short robe. Evune folded the papers and then rushed out the door.

As soon as he entered the hall, he saw an open room in front of him with voices talking. He turned to the left and rushed down the opposite hall. He ran for a while until the metal halls seemed to lead on and on, never changing. He couldn’t tell if he was in a basement, in a building, or in a factory.

He wasn’t sure how much time past and nausea winded up his throat again. He dry-heaved, falling to his knees. The adrenaline rush had started to disappear and the only thing keeping him going was pure will. Every part of his body ached. He wondered if any of it was worth it. Maybe, he should’ve just goaded the man into killing him. It would’ve been an honorable death. His mother’s words seemed to ring weakly in his ears. He couldn’t imagine that this is what she meant by “at all costs”. He felt as if his skin was no longer his own and the blame lied only in himself.

The halls opened up and he found himself in the hallway with the red sacs. Most of the sacs stood empty now. For the few remaining, he walked up to them, checking for any ways to break them out. It was as if they were in a stasis. He moved his hand to touch the sac only to reel back when his fingers pressed through the gelatinous-like substance with ease. He searched around and found a tray of familiar looking objects. He picked up a syringe and pressed inside the sac, pulling the gelatinous fluid into the syringe. He swiveled around, wrapping the syringe in the folded papers when he froze.

At the very end of the hallway in one of the sacs was the emaciated form of his father. He lunged forward, dropping everything in his hold, shoving his hands to try to pull his father out. The body wouldn’t budge. He scratched at the stuff hoping he could scoop some out or dig out his father but to no avail.

He dropped to his knees with his hands clutching his father’s shoulders. His father made no movement to break free or wake up. His father’s body felt cold. Evune tried to hold it in, pulling his lips shut, but he could feel the water spilling from his eyes.

He couldn’t leave him. He _couldn’t_.

“You must know the man.” Dr. Porenni said.

Evune gritted his teeth but made no motion to move or say anything.

“It makes sense. He didn’t have nearly the same resistance to lyrium like you but, well, he is still alive. A surprise to be sure.” Dr. Porenni strode forward with a whistle in his tone. “I was given orders to kill you if you got free.”

Evune’s hold tightened.

“But, I won’t.” Dr. Porenni opened one of his pockets and pulled out a small flask of clear solution. “You see, I find you to be one of the greatest scientific finds in, well, forever. Killing you would be a waste. So, here’s what I’ll do.”

The doctor opened the flask and poured it over the red sac. The red sac began to wobble and then melt like ice.

“Take this as a gift from me to you.” Dr. Porenni dropped the flask to the ground. “And, I’ll even let you free.”

“What do you want?” Evune seethed, his father, still cold to the touch, started to shiver in his hold.

“Nothing at all. I just can’t stand most mages—especially blood mages.” And the doctor swiveled around and walked back down the hall, still whistling that tune. Evune glared as the man disappeared into the darkness of the halls.

“Da’len.” His father croaked.

“It’s me.” Evune said, the tears spilling still. He cleared his throat. “We’re going to leave and—

His father lifted a weak arm. His skin stuck to his bones as if there was only blood between them—barely more than a skeleton. “Da’len, look at me.”

Evune clutched him harder.

His father added solemnly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“We’re in Tevinter. They have magic and advanced healers. They’re better than we’ve ever seen before.” Evune rubbed the water in his eyes on his arm.

“You’re not a child anymore.” His father’s voice rattled in his chest. He wheezed, “No one will ever call you da’len again.  So take the doctor’s gift and my own.”

“You are my gift. I’m going to—

His father exhaled with his spindly fingers wrapping around Evune’s wrist. “Use the flask he left and save the others. Promise me.”

Evune closed his eyes and nodded.

“And know that your mother and I never lied to you.” His father lifted his hand up to Evune’s temple. He tapped it weakly. “Find the dwarven clan named Roka. Find your birthright. Find the mirror.”

His father’s eyes flickered open before Evune hugged him tightly. He felt his father’s final breath ease out much like when a dagger is taken out the chest, jarring and painful. He moved his father’s body to the wall and then reached for the flask.

He turned to the four other sacs and freed them.

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

_9:05 dragon_

_4 th day of Parvulis_

The lab was cleaned of notes and books by the time Nanterius had her people scour the area. The magisters of Vyrantium’s ire weakened in the face of Nanterius solving the recent disappearances, even if those people were now dead. She was able to suggest a mandate against lyrium testing. It was a clever rouse, how she used him. She now had complete control of all the lyrium that went in and out of Vyrantium superseding the Valens. He should've been more angry that she used him but it gave him his father's last moments. As long as she kept her end of the deal, grudgingly, he could focus on other things like the trials.

He brought his father’s body with him along with the four survivors--three elves and one dwarf. Nanterius and even Sareethi, for what little they had known each other, helped him plant two trees--a second one for his mother--in the back and a small burial mound beneath it. He had told Nanterius he would take his father’s body to the nearest forest but she would have none of it. She knew he would prefer to have him near. It was just as likely another ploy to keep him leashed. But it was something he would handle another day.

 

In terms of the survivors, it was far less complicated than he had expected. Deshanna took them in without any complaints. Unfortunately, that was the last of the good news. Dr. Porenni disappeared and the Porenni clan says there is no such non-mage in their family. The survivors couldn't remember how they were taken or who had taken them. Evune was the only one who had seen him at all. It was like he didn't exist.  He  kept to the story of the survivors only telling Deshanna and Nanterius of what happened. It was a conscious decision on his part to leave Tarsian in the dark. This was his birthright. His family, his clan being dragged and diminished to the level of a lab experiment.

He would avenge his father.

 In the days he had been gone, Deshanna immersed herself in the merchant business. She set up shop focusing on already mixed bundles of herbs for those who weren’t so savvy with their potions skills. Arnarel had disappeared back to Minrathous but he had a feeling it wasn’t due to Tarsian’s insistence.  It wasn’t until mid-day meal that he knew why.

“That asshole should’ve known.” Deshanna slammed her fist on the table. Birds happened to be flying by and twittered in the opposite direction. Her plate of fried flat breads—another strange meal but apparently originates in Orlais. “He could’ve gotten you killed.”

Evune admitted, “It wasn’t his fault. He was a pawn. Honestly, Nanterius is at fault. She planned it all. And at the end, even I realized it. I still let them shoot me.”

“Then why did you forgive her, because she let you have a funeral?” Deshanna huffed. “Good for her. At least her heart isn’t a complete ice rock.”

"I think Sareethi is more angry than me. Nanterius told her about Nyx earlier that day. Used her too. She definitely burned a bridge"

"Qunari bridges are always the scariest."

A swirl of wind blew through carrying the scent of salt in the air as the docking bell rang. Davan left two days ago. His duty was to the Chantry first. He felt bitter at Davan's freedom. Freedom was becoming a desperate want. Yet, the deeper and more successful things went for him the distance between him and freedom widened.

“How are the survivors?”

Deshanna sighed heavily. “Jittery and clumsy, all of them, especially the city-bred one.” She picked up her fork and began stabbing the flatcake. Chopping it into little pieces.

“His name is Sid.”

“I’m just saying that’s a weird name for an elf.” Deshanna waved her hand as if waving the subject itself away. “Anyway, how are you? I heard you still haven’t gotten over your flu.”

“It’s fine.” Evune pressed a hand against his temple. "It's my headache that's killing me." 

Deshanna said unimpressed. “Really?” She grabbed one of the chopped pieces and waved it in his face. As soon as the smell of honey and raw wheat hit his nose, he gagged. He held a hand to his mouth and swallowed it back down. “Oh, you’re definitely fine.”

“I have to leave for Minrathous tonight.” Evune shot back. “I don’t have a choice.”

“At least that trainer of yours is going too. She’ll keep you safe.” Deshanna grinned.

“If she doesn’t kill me first, she’s still making me walk laps when I can’t run and run laps when I won’t dodge and—

“Dodging when I can’t hit.” Deshanna finished alongside him.

“Which means all I do is walk for hours.”

Deshanna grinned.

“I also haven’t heard of any Roka clan. No one in that underground city has even heard of them.” Evune blew out his cheeks. The pang of anger and frustration only fanned on as another day went by without him finding any hints to catch. “My father might’ve been out of his mind by the end. The things he said.” He shook his head.

“Well, I don’t like you leaving to the largest city in the Thedas without your scroll, but I guess we can’t all get what we want.”

“Those Liberati guys—

“The sacrifice was too great.”

Evune repeated louder, “They would’ve been a good network for you and your supply runs. They might still. You’ve got a target on your head now and I just want you to be safe. Arnarel wants the same thing.”

Deshanna sniffed. “I’ll believe it when he tells me himself.”

Evune covered up his grin.

 A rush of sailors and travelers entered the port and a large influx of people flushed through the market.  Evune blinked. He swore one of the sailors looked familiar. Deshanna dropped her bag on the table with a loud smack. “Also, Kellis told me to give you this.” Out from her bag, she pulled out a crystalline music box with chipped gold inlays and curving obsidian handles. On the top of the music box was a slipper carved out of jade.

He lifted up his hands and gently took it from her hands. “It was my mother’s.”

“Yeah,” Deshanna added with a sniff, “Kellis told me he’d had it a while. I almost choked him then. He must’ve felt guilty and broke like a badly built bridge.”

"Those Tevinter bridges often are." He flipped the music box open and immediately a soft song flew in the air—a few Tevinters turn towards them, but he didn’t pay them any mind. The small figurine, wearing thin, satin fabric, lifted up its leg and spun around the music box stage. Twisting and twirling until the dancer broke her feet apart and began to swing its arms, its hips. Finally, the figurine fell forward and the music stopped. The figurine was wooden and its arms could barely move, but all he saw in its place was his mother for the final time.

He breathed in. He was glad his parents were together now.

An elven sailor walked up to their table with a large rucksack on his back “Ashara?”

Evune stilled. The sailor swept around the table and dropped the bag to the ground. He opened his arms wide. Evune blinked. The man wore a long blue bandana on his chest while everything else was ripped on the edges. He even walked barefoot.  “Halesta.”

Halesta grabbed Evune and hugged him as tight as can be. “I heard that song and thought there’s no way there’s a person in Tevinter with great taste like Akila.”

“It’s good that you made it out.” Evune said as Halesta loosened his grip. Halesta was one of those tall, wiry elves. He half-believed Halesta was part human if it wasn’t for his ears. “How did you make it out?”

He couldn’t help the barest hints of suspicion. Elvia was not above such tricks. And neither was her henchmen. But, Halesta was a simple man and more of an uncle than anything. He wouldn’t have bent to anyone’s threats willing.

“The tradesmen. I was out searching for that Kellis when I ran into a group of tradesmen who gave me the news.” Halesta’s demeanor drooped. “I’m sorry about your parents. Our sister clans deserved more.”

Evune forced a smile on his face. “They did, but I’m just glad to see some of the village survived.”

Halesta nodded excitedly.  “How did you make it out? And where’s Carin?” His head turned around searchingly.

“Carin didn’t make it.”

“Oh.”

 Deshanna sat silently when Halesta turned to her.

“I hope you're a new friend then.”

Deshanna tossed a look at Evune and then grinned. “One of the newest. If you have some good dirt on his childhood to help things along, that would be amazing.”

Halesta laughed, clutching his side and Evune couldn’t help but smile too.

“Yet, the question continues unanswered.” The passing people thinned out leaving Marcella and two guards standing in the middle. Marcella tossed a hand out. “How did he get here?”

Evune clasped his hands in his lap.

“Mind your own business, backstabber.” Deshanna hissed. "He tried protecting you! And this is how you repay him."

Marcella huffed. “It’s a valid question. His best friend dies and he survives. What, or whom, would have kept him alive? His friend, a mage, didn't stand a chance but a magic-less, elven, fog warrior. Three wrongs don't make a right.”

Halesta stared back blankly. “Well, I think he’s just a good kid with a clever mind. Stays out of trouble.” He slapped his knee and grinned.

Evune couldn’t help but feel nauseous again. He pressed a hand against his mouth.

“Why don’t you tell him the truth? I feel embarrassed for you.” Marcella switched to Evune. “Although, I would be ashamed of going from being the son of a warrior leader to a whore too.”

Evune closed his eyes and breathed the wave of anger, of disgust, and weariness. He let it wash over him. He let it pass. A hand enfolded into his and he opened his eyes.

“Whatever you need, whenever you need it.” Said Halesta, firmly. “I’ll be there.”

Marcella frowned and then swiveled around. The clattering of her shoes heard in the distance and into the port.

Halesta didn’t move his hand though and instead added his other. “Got it?”

Evune blinked back his watering eyes. He nodded.

Halesta stood up and yanked up his rucksack to his shoulders.

“One more thing,” Evune said curiously. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Do you know a dwarf with the name Roka?”

Halesta scratched his chin. “There was a tradesman by that name. A dwarf with black marks on his face. A sort of genius with armors and weaponry. Pretty sure he’s in that big city.”

“Minrathous?”

Halesta nodded.  

 

When the day had fallen into night, the ship came to harbor. The ship dipped up and down in the water, while the port boardwalk creaked under the footsteps of the  
sailors. The market was empty and the air felt heavy with questions. Everyone had said their goodbyes and departed one by one leaving him to stare over the sea. He turned at the sound of footsteps behind him and found Sareethi. . .with a young child.

“You’re a mother.” Evune said.

Sareethi’s mouth twitched. “His name is Kaaras. Kaaras introduce yourself.”

Kaaras had to have been about eight or nine years old. His curly hair spun around his horns that pulled back from his forehead than to the side or faced forward. He waved.  “You must be the elf that can’t hit a building even if you tried.”

Sareethi sighed.

“That’s about accurate.” Evune smiled.

Kaaras broke away from his mother’s hold and skipped up to the ship’s deck.

 

                                                                       

* * *

 

 

 

The trip to Minrathous was far from pleasant. He was ill nearly the whole trip and the only thing that helped was warm milk, which only helped half the time. The other half of the time he was ill he had to buckle down and deal.

The trip was good for him in another way. It was the first time in a long bit that he could take time to think. He looked at the scab across his arm sticking up like a bubbled worm. His sleeves fell over it and in disgust turned away, gulping down air as a panic swept over him. Pressing his fingers tight into the sides of the desk, he eased out a breath. He wouldn't be able to sleep without locking his door for many nights.  They would find out the truth soon. Elvia had made a crucial mistake in letting them know she was testing on Liberati and using blood mages. He may find some relief in that, however cruel it may be.

 He folded the random pages away for another time. He hoped this tradesmen of the Roka clan would help him with that. The only thing that worried him right in the present moment was his mother’s journal. His father’s words sparked worry in him.

What did they have to apologize for? Why would they have lied?

With the journal on the desk, he began to read.

The story began with the tale of Ghilan’nain and Andruil. The stories themselves, though, were different than the ones he had heard from his villagers. It spoke of a council of elves—the Evanuris. It said that these elves were the gods of the pantheon and were no less than extraordinary but not beyond the realm of reality.

They weren’t gods.

Evune pulled some of his own papers and quills from his chests until a blank journal fell out. He took the book in hand and placed it on his desk to be used later.

The journal continued to write that Ghilan’nain was a lover of Andruil. Andruil, as the huntress goddess, and Ghilan’nain as the creator of creatures, both wicked and kind, that roamed Thedas. The journal could not explain it clearly and some of the words were in a dialect of elvish that was unfamiliar to him. Creatures appeared, or rather awoke, that Ghilan’nain did not create. They were called Titans. These Titans caused frustration and stress among the Elvhen and the Evanuris took it upon them to discuss with the Titans how to _fix_ this. These discussions did not end well and in an effort to avoid war the Titans asked that the elves to send a few of their own as the Titans would send a few of their own—like ambassadors.

These Elvhen ambassadors were made to drink from the pure blood of a Titan. Because it was willingly given and pure, the blood was translucent and gave them all the palest, whitest of hair as if the forced cleaning bleached it by accident. In return, Titans were promised peace. Their descendants kept the long-lived tradition but it only lasted three generations when Elvhen and Titan disagreements became too strong. The Evanuris wanted the blood of a Titan to be available to them all. The next several pages derail into something more than another dialect. It seemed to be an entirely different language. The only familiar words he caught were “Children of the Stone”.

He pressed a hand against his temple and leaned on the desk. _The Dwarves._ Yet, it didn’t explain why his blood killed blood mages, and there was no promise that any of this was actually real. They could be just as much children’s stories as anything else. Evune rubbed his eyes and then peered out his room window. The sea rocked gently outside as the moonlight fell in through the cracks. He was exhausted. He stood up and lowered to his bed, groaning as his back cracked in the movement. It took no time at all for him to fall asleep.

 

While he slept, it felt like the strangest in-between of being both awake and unconscious. He only assumed it had to be a dream because unseen hands began lifting his shirt and grazing his stomach, his nipples. He opened his eyes only to find himself in this nothingness type world where things floated in the sky and on the ground.

_“Vyn alas’niremah i’em(Would you like to dance with me)?”_

_Lips flitted by his ears. A blindfold covered over his eyes._

_Telharthan(I don’t understand)._

Hands fitted into his own and he stood up in the darkness.

_I can’t see._

_“Ma tel nuven'in.(You don’t need to.)”_

His mother’s music box played its haunting intro with stringed instruments, slow and careful. The arms of the other swept in the air, with one hand on his hip, and it led him in a spiraling dance. He twisted him around and then lined Evune’s back to his chest. He wrapped his hands around, holding Evune’s arms, and their bodies swung from left to right.

_“You are not to blame for those who take advantage.”_

_When I am too weak to protect myself, who else can be blamed._

The other voice made no reply.

_Hello?_

_“I want to protect you when you cannot protect yourself when the world is too weak to take blame for its faults.”_

 

 

The sun struck his face and blearily he awoke. He took out the oils from his chest and gave a small smile. Tarsian left him those powdery “soaps”, the name Nanterius calls them, and oils when he left last. They were the same ones he shared with him the first time they got together.  He undid his hair and re-braided, brushing through the thick of his hair, pressing oil from his scalp to his tips. Deshanna wanted him to be angry at him for not fighting against Elvia but he understood how easy it was to become powerless. The Black Divine as a Valens, the Magisterium in the Valens’ pockets, and his Consort as a Valens left him as tied as a meal prepped for dinner.

And Elvia. . . she wanted him dead. This wasn’t entirely new but this was the first direct attack. This appearance of the doctor was also a new concern. Elvia was clever to team with him.

“You awake?” Sareethi spoke through the door.

Evune yawned. He rubbed his nose. “I’ll be out soon.”

“Prepare for training.” And her footsteps walked away until silent.

He pulled open his trunk and pulled on his leather armor. The first flap snapped fairly easily and the second flap with a little difficulty, but the last flap wouldn’t snap at all. He loosened the armor and pressed along his hips.

Had he gained weight?

Sareethi knocked on the door again. “What’s taking so long?”

He unlocked the door and let her into his rather cramped room. She had to bend her head to get through the door.

“I can’t fit my armor.”

“You’ve been sick the whole trip and the days before.” Sareethi said.

Evune unsnapped the leather clips and pulled it up over his head, tossing it back in the trunk. “I know. I don’t know how, but I’m still gaining weight.”

Sareethi shifted from one leg to the next. It was an odd movement made. Evune had never seen her to something considered to be so “nervous”.

Evune sighed. “Tell me. Do you think the doctor—”

“Is it possible,” Sareethi interrupted, her voice careful, “That you might be pregnant?”

Evune furrowed his brows, almost to the point of consternation, until he broke out in laughter. “No. I can’t _have_ children. My healer told me as a _child_. Second, even if I could, I—there’s no way.”

“Your illness. It would—

Evune snapped back, “It’s not possible. Drop it.”

“Did you—

“Yes, but like I said, there’s no way.” Evune glared into Sareethi’s eyes until she waved a hand in surrender. “Besides, there’s also no way to check. Conversation finished.”

Sareethi tilted her head.

 

 

 

 

Evune ended up doing it the way Sareethi had been told to do so by her own relatives. He peed in a clay pot and a pile of fresh wheat, then they covered the pot. Apparently, if the wheat started to grow even with it in the darkness within a few days, then he was. If it didn’t, then he wasn’t.

He left the pot in the corner of his cabin and shoved it into the deepest corners of his mind. He shoved it so far from his mind that his childhood traumas about flutterbugs were more recent and apparent in his thoughts.

Sareethi made her position clear and stopped having him do much else than meditate. They sat on the deck in a corner the crew left open and he closed his eyes. . He sucked in the salt fresh air and felt the sun beam down on his skin.

By the third day, he flattened his hand against his hips and motioned his hands around his stomach—rounded by food or weight. He lightly pressed down, instead of feeling lightness or bounce, it was hard. He felt the air punch through his chest. He pressed his hands against his face and breathed. He practiced the meditation Sareethi had him do as his heart beat out of his chest. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. He distantly felt as if he were falling out of his own body.

He had to calm down.

It became night and all he had done from mid-day to then was stare mindlessly at the door. His eyes dropped to the clay pot and he reached over to open it. He clutched around its edges in exhausted relief knowing that the answer could be nothing else than what he knew it would be. His healer. His father. His clan members. It was only his mother who thought against all reason he would have children.

He lifted the parched dry covering and underneath it a dusty brown-green sprout had grown.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

 

_8 th day of Parvulis_

 

There were twenty-some days before the first of Harvestmere.  And he was pregnant and yet it could be worse. His whole family could be dead. Or his clan could be blinking out of existence. His best--formerly best--friend could be dead too even. This list could go on forever but, hey, what was one more reponsibility?

_Fenedhis._

He walked across the hall and knocked on Sareethi’s door knowing it was the middle of the night. He heard Sareethi whisper, “Kaaras, go back to sleep." before she unlocked the cabin door and walked out, closing it behind her.

"You didn't sleep." She gave him an expectant look. 

“You were right. Something’s—there’s a new plant on the wheat. So, I am. What do I do?”

“First, you breath.”

“Harder than you think.”

Sareethi gave a half-shrug.  She walked away and he mindlessly followed her as a million thoughts ran through his head.

How? How? _How?_ Why? Wasn’t life hard enough already? And why had Carin's mother lied to him? This was never supposed to happen.

Are you done?” Sareethi said, with her hands on her hip. She was dressed in white baggy pants and a halter, her sleep clothes he believed, showing a scar on her stomach. The scar was jagged and an inch thick, a discolored mark on her skin. His whole body felt cold.

“Is that from Kaaras?”

“Yes.”

He slapped a hand across his face. “Oh gods, why?” 

Sareethi dropped her hands on his shoulder and gently shook. “This won’t be easy but there are important things to remember.”

Evune nodded slowly.

“Keep this between us. There will be no specifics.” Sareethi added. “We will find you a trusted doctor. Last, I’m going to have to be with you at all times.”

“I will go into the Provings and find the Roka clan. There’s no budging on that.”

Sareethi frowned.

“I can’t stop everything for—for these _things_ I can’t fail another trial.” 

"What you should be focusing on is the father."

He clutched his stomach. "I'm going to be sick." Tarsian was a wild card. He was manipulatice and sly, but somewhere underneath that there was honesty and companionship that was worth a few years. But a lifetime?

One of the crew members cleared their throat, and fidgeted under their glare.  “We’ve reached Minrathous and your carriage is already here.” He ran off as soon as he finished.

Evune and Sareethi walked out to the bow to see the city like a fountain made out of metal in the distance. The only way leading into the grand city was a long bridge winding across the ocean. They prepared their bags, dressed for the day, and stepped off the boat into a carriage.

Nanterius and him took an entire day to prepare for what he would wear. And he was surprised he still fit into it—a white robe that wrapped from his lower hips up his shoulders to dip around his hip to tie into a knot.  On his ankles were chandelier silver gold anklets and white rings in his braids leading from his scalp to his tips.

Where Vyrantium was about metal, dragonlings, and shadowy alleyways, Minrathous was about high dragons, the underbellies of society, and the aristocracy with pagodas on their roofs, iron will embedded into the very soul of the city. Minrathous was a whole other world into itself.

The carriage that brought them across the bridge had sharp points on its top and spinning knives on the outside of the wheels. The Dracolisks that led the carriage were armored in thick obsidian. There was no chance of them getting attacked on the way through the large island. He lowered a hand to his stomach before jerking his hand away.

“It’s natural to be worried.” Sareethi said as she clutched the still-sleeping Kaaras napping in her arms.

“I don’t know how it will fit into this.” Evune said softly. “I don’t know if it can.”

“We have time to figure it out yet.”

The trip across the bridge, through the intricate maze-like roads of Minrathous’ inner city until reaching Archon Vesce’s home. The moon had inked out of the sky and had disappeared by the time they reached the manor. Neither the moon nor the sun sat in the sky and Evune thought it was an uncomfortable omen.

He saw that Tarsian had waited out in the front of the building. He wasn’t wearing his Archon robes but simple midnight green sleep clothes. He even stood barefoot. Sareethi and him exited the carriage with one of Tarsian’s servants deigning to direct Sareethi to her room.

“Excuse me,” He raised his voice and interrupted the woman. “I would like Sareethi close to my bedroom, please.”

The woman bowed. “Of course, sir.”

Sareethi gave him a quick nod and with Kaaras in her arms she left with the woman.

“You look beautiful.” Tarsian said. He brushed a hand against Evune’s braids and then to Evune’s crescent moon scar. “I regret forcing you to be by my side but never that you are. How are you?”

Evune wanted to pour out everything. He knew he couldn’t. He wanted to tell him about what he had found out only a few hours prior. He knew that he couldn’t. He also knew that he couldn’t lie. He lifted up a hand to Tarsian’s chest.

“Can I show you?”

Tarsian’s face fell into confusion but he nodded.

“Show me a room that we can be together in private.”

Tarsian put out his hand and grasped tightly to Evune’s. There was no dainty holding or distance in the touch. Evune felt relieved.

 

 

 

The room he took him to was a sort of office with a large blackwood desk and a library full of theoretical sciences books, including but not limited to magic.  In the left corner sat a fireplace with a fire already stoking hot and a lush red, gold carpet.

“Sit in the chair.” Evune said. He pulled from the loose clothing his mother’s music box and winded it until it couldn’t be wound more. He placed it on the end table beside Tarsian’s chair.

He had seen his mother do this dance a hundred times but never done it himself.

“It’s called the Dance of Evunial.” Evune said. He lifted his both arms in the air with one at a higher level as if they were two separate planes of existing. “Lift up the lid of the music box.”

Tarsian lifted the top of the music box and perhaps it was the height of the ceiling or the first time the box had been wound from the beginning, but the song began hauntingly slow.

Evune knew the story by heart even though his mother hadn’t told him it since he was very young.

His hands swept the air and his arms floated behind as his feet twisted and twirled. In the beginning, Mythal knew there had to be balance. Elgar’nan and his sun were too bright. It burned out the world at first. She imagined something cool, something cold that could remind Elgar’nan everything needed its balance. The moon was created and became equal to the sun but only grudgingly.

He pulled back his arms with his palms up and imagined reaching for the stars. He imagined grasping into the sky and the world shaking beneath. His feet twisted back and forth. His shoulders bent along as kept his closed eyes pointed up. He slid a careful hand down and untwisted the knot of the robe and it slipped from his shoulders.

Underneath, he wore golden jewels and rubies trailing from his upper hip to his lower hip, dipping into the crease of his ass like underclothes. It was his necklace of before.

The haunting melodies transformed into flowers and vines, gardens and fruit, water and small creatures. His hands twisted in the air as his feet hit the ground and horns began to play, drums began to join in.

The dragons were born and wanted to be gods too. They didn’t like the moon or the sun. And so they attacked the Elvhen. They called them liars and themselves the true gods. And some believed them. The Elvhen and the dragons slaughtered each other for many years.

His legs twisted, pulling his feet as the jewels around his hips swung left and right faster and faster until the jewels around his hips became a blur. With his hands in the air, still as if in two different planes, flipped into the air like a windmill, both arms moving from between both planes at different times, the same time, and meeting at an even point where they did not move again.

Evunial, not him, but the one of legend, outstretched his hand to the dragons and told them he would save them both.

Evune wrapped his arms around his hip and smiled, sinking to his knees before raising back up. His hands curved up as if holding a teacup and his legs did all the work for him.

Evunial spoke to the dragons and to the Elvhen arguing and meeting with their counsel but no one listened. He spent his life searching for what would strengthen him and would show them peace was in the heart, not in greed. But he was too late. The Elvhen had fallen and not by dragons but by the Dread Wolf’s betrayal.

The haunting song quieted as the instruments disappeared—one by one. Evune’s hips slowed to sharp twists after a step forward and a step back.

The hesitance in Evunial did not last long. He carved out his heart and tossed it in Dragon Fire. He promised he would return and give his people the hope they deserved. In the meantime, he would live into eternity until someone found his heart and gave him the Uthenera, he no longer deserved.

His soul fell into the mirror never to be seen again.

_The mirror. . ._

Evune breathed out as the song finally stopped and Tarsian came forward with his chest to Evune’s back. His hands drew lightly across Evune’s side to his hip. Tarsian opened up his robe wearing _nothing_ underneath.

“I have never seen such a story.” Tarsian muttered as his hand dipped into Evune’s waist and pressed inside Evune’s wet heat. “But why that dance?”

Evune muffled a groan. “It’s a tale of immortality.”

Tarsian burred out a low laugh against his throat. He pressed in another finger until four filled Evune and thrust them back and forth. Evune reached back to touch Tarsian’s hardness but was held back by Tarsian’s other hand.

“You take such good care of me,” The Archon said, “why don’t you let _me_ take care of you.”  He pulled a flask of oil from his drawer and his fingers drew on Evune’s skin. The oil painted his collar, his arms, his hips, and his legs. He rubbed the oil back into Evune’s nipples, gently flicking and twisting as he drew his lips on Evune’s neck. Evune felt heat pool in the pit of his belly. He pressed back feeling Tarsian’s thick twitch against his back.

Tarsian dropped his hands to cup Evune’s ass and pressed oil into the skin, dripping between the creases where the cold underclothes started to soak.

Evune whined and then dropped his head on Tarsian’s neck, grinding down on the twitching hardness. The Archon refused to move. Tarsian’s fingers trailed up from the crease, dipping and thrusting for only a second, before pulling both hands to press against Evune’s back. And then grazed his stomach, smearing more oil.

Evune felt the warmth and haze of Tarsian’s caresses empty his mind better than any of his meditation. And he wanted to tell him the truth. Tarsian turned Evune around until they were face to face and kissed the scar on his cheek then his lips. He pulled Evune back as he fell back against his chair and Evune felt a sharp sense of déjà vu.

Tarsian moved Evune to sit on his lap and pulled him tight against his chest. Evune tucked his legs on his lap and dropped his head to Tarsian’s chest, listening to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat. Tarsian tightened his hold. He could feel Tarsian sink into the padded of the chair. Evune raised his eyes briefly and caught sight of a long red ribbon tucked in the corner of a book ledge.

It was his ribbon.

“I don’t know what happened at the lab, but Elvia has been especially smug as of late. I also heard,” Tarsian began touching Evune’s wrists and dropped a kiss on one. “of your father's death. You must think I'm useless."

Evune lifted his head and pressed his lips to Tarsian’s. His tongue sucking Tarsian’s in a faux dance of fellatio. He wrapped his arms around Tarsian’s neck as the kiss deepened and Tarsian began to consume him, his mouth pulling him in and out. He pressed his mouth deeper as Tarsian dropped his hands to his hips. Evune pulled his lips off. "No. I know it takes time"

"You are the master of patience."

Evune continued, “I’ll need guards with me around the city.”

“Of course.” Tarsian pressed a kiss against Evune’s chest where a small scar sat—the one from the arrow that struck him.  He licked around Evune’s sensitive ears. “I’m surprised you feel such need. Your dancing reminded me of Antivan dance fighting.”

Evune hummed. “Dance fighting?”

“You have beautiful legs.” Tarsian added. “The dance fighting focuses on legs and twisting around on them. A rather dodging sort of fight style. Nothing gets hit but the legs. The few I’ve ever seen do so were elven travelers on the outer edges of Antiva. A dying people in an otherwise striving country.”

“Tarsian.” Evune asked, “Why me?”

Tarsian pulled away, “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t be the most beautiful elf you’ve ever seen. You’re the Archon,” Evune nuzzled his head against Tarsian’s chest. A part him knew, without a doubt, that Tarsian could not feel for him in any stretch of the imagination--love. Which was something he'd accepted. He didn't need that. What he needed was a possibility for a future.

“There are some things,” Tarsian tensed. “Most things that do no change as time quickens. And then there are those who ever fluorescent and bright. You are like a sun."

Evune hummed in agreement. His fingers trailed down Tarsian’s chest until reaching his hardness, still twitching. “Is that what you call this?"

"Burning and shining." Tarsian groaned as he twisted his fingers around Tarsian’s thickness, using the oil on his hand to slide up and down, jerking his hand every few seconds. "Hot and red." Tarsian spread his legs open and moaned. Evune wrapped both hands around and clasped the Archon’s cock even tighter as he pressed up and down. His thickness reddened and flushed an angry purple. He had never noticed how truly thick the Archon’s cock widened—his hand barely encircling it. The heat warming his hand and the oil slick, the flesh of his thickness slapped against his palms. Evune slid from his lap and opened his mouth, swallowing the thickness whole.

“Kaffas!” Tarsian tightened his fists in his leg with his nails leaving red scratches in its wake.

Evune flipped his tongue, twirling around his thickness as he thrust it in and out of his mouth taking great care to taste his tip—dipping in and out. Tarsian groaned and his hand grappled the armchair hands. He could feel Tarsian’s thickness fill his mouth and weigh down on his tongue until it struck his throat and he swallowed until the warm release trickled down, slurping every bit, licking from one edge to the end.

“You are a demon.” Tarsian said as Evune crawled up his lap.

 

 

 

 

Elvia did not live at Tarsian’s home although she did have a room and a personal guard for her quarters. His quarters, thankfully, was on the opposite end of the manor and Tarsian told him he could choose his own guards. He took out a quill and paper wrote a letter to Deshanna and Nanterius for recommendations. He would not see Tarsian for a while yet, he had several meetings with the Magisterium today.

His room was a multi-partitioned quarter. The bedroom was a bed sat on raised platform and was large enough to fit three Qunari and a dwarf. The sun had barely touched the horizon when his head met the pillows.

 

The dreams, this time, were unlike before. He appeared in the world not floating or attached to another place but distant, like a ghost. What stood before him was a land of emerald clear trees and thriving flora poking out along the pebbled paths of a home. The home was esoteric with an ordered geometry about it. Windows, like crystal, sprouted out the sides and the walls furled and unfurled like petals. The color-coded pattern of the gardens and the pebbles ingrained in the dirt led into its entrance. He followed the pebbled dirt feeling the grit between his toes as an elven boy with tanned skin, no longer a child but much younger than Evune, sat on a rock overlooking a small pond. Fishes scurried and jumped in and out the small body of water, splashing water in the sun and reflecting its bright light, as the boy pulled out a small instrument. His fingers pressed against the instrument as a soft whistling tune played, his fingers sliding against its neck.

“My father told me that music was a skill for the fruitless.” And Evune turned around to see the man behind the voice, whispering in his ears for these many days, tall, wide-shouldered, his hair spun in thin twists behind him and over his pointed ears with these green eyes that were more like lightning than grass. “It would surprise you to know, even demons had a childhood.”

Evune questioned. “Your mother?”

“She was a simple maid. I was the first of such a pairing. Thousands of year of tradition stuck to them well. Never quite found my way to either side, actually.”

“This doesn’t prove anything.” Evune added before turning back to the boy on the rock. “This could be someone else’s memory.”

His eyes distant. The man slid his hands in the air shaping clouds and moving air. It was like a game until he pulled it all back into the palm of his hand. “It could be. It reminds me of your memory of your father painting.”

“You’re rifling around my memories then.” Evune scoffed. “What part of get out don’t you understand?”

A shrill voice called out in what Evune imagined was elvish but he couldn’t discern what it meant. The boy, with fear in his eyes, slid the instrument in his shirt and ran back inside the large home wrapped in vines and trees. The air strumming with electricity and a green smog in the sky.

“I would leave if able. Perhaps,” the elf said, a smile touched his lips, “you like having someone to speak to that can’t actually touch you. The reason I may be stuck is because our destinies are intertwined.”

“Bullshit.” Evune crossed his arms and sniffed. “You can read my mind, why don’t you tell me.”

“How about instead,” the elf cocked his head, “you read _my_ mind and tell me. Am I lying?”

Evune opened his mouth only to feel the air twist and stretch into formless words. The air heavy with the promise of iron will and stubbornness. A sense of self that wavers in light of overwhelming self-deprecation.

There was a confusion at the center.

_Who am I?_

“Who am I? I have wondered. The spirits and demons have a strong sense of self—charity, rage, justice, and sloth. But, I fit neither.” the elf said, in mirror to the words in his head. Evune shook his head.

“If we’re sharing thoughts, and you’re a person, where’s your body?”

“Somewhere.” The elf said with a heavy sigh. “I have a suspicion where, but I’m more interested in knowing how I attached to you. Especially given here, in the Fade, there is nothing binding you to it. No magic. No lyrium. Just you.”

“The Fade—the place where mages go.”

The other elf nodded before Evune started to feel dizzy. He wobbled forward and the man caught him, flinging his gaze upward. “It seems our connection is weakening.”  

 

  _10 th day of Parvulis_

 

The first few days past by quickly. Nanterius would be reprimanding him for sleeping and lazing about but it was the first real rest he'd had in awhile. It gave him time to put things in perspective and wonder about his future. Did he truly have a place here? Or should he take the next trip back to Seheron?

He pushed away from the bed, rubbing his drowsiness away. The demon, or spirit, seemed to be gaining more power but it wasn’t hurting him. Perhaps it wasn’t actually a demon. Those were the thoughts of someone hopeful. He should tell them--someone. He  _should_.

Behind the curved walls of the bedroom was the bathroom, a large crystalline room with a hot spring. Periodically, servants came in cleaning the walls and wiping the floors. He watched them carefully and saw their skittishness for what it was--fear. Today, he would offer them a chance to be unafraid.  He walked up to them and they profusely apologized before he even opened his mouth. “I was only going to ask that you and the other servants responsible for my quarters schedule in a daily three meals. I want everyone fed here.”

The servants shared a look and then nodded.

“I have expenses set aside to pay for your clothing, comfort, and food, understand? You will tell the others that their salary is not to be used while on the job.” He and Nanterius had budgeted the "allowances" of being in the Hole and, presently, Evune was in first place . He was given a significantly higher payout than the others even with the death of the mage--his translations more than making up for it. He tried not to think about it too much. There wasn't anything to win and all he had done is lay on his back. Halesta's words were the few vestiges of kindness he could squander up for himself.

Marcella hadn't been wrong.

“Is there something you want us to do?” One of the servants asked. The other one beside her hit her shoulder and glared.

“If you could,” Evune said carefully and lowly, “tell me if you see anything that is out of the ordinary. You’re not required, of course, but I would like you to.”

“Sir,” one of the servants said, ignoring the yanking of the other’s insistence, “the Templar Davan left a dagger in your jewelry box. He said you may need it for protection.”

Evune dropped a hand to her shoulder. “Thank you—?” He gave a quizzical expression and the servant answered, “Leilani, sir.”

“Thank you, Leilani, I appreciate it.”

The two servant women bowed and then rushed off.

Evune pulled open the bathing cabinets and along the walls were crystalline shelves with all sorts of soaps and oils, the kind that he had never seen in all his life. He went around opening and closing bottles, smelling them, and even recognizing a few of them. He put a blueish bottle to the side for its smell of mint and pine. It reminded him of Seheron.

_Of Davan. . ._

Evune scolded himself. It was more of the other way around, but his life wasn’t what it used to be. He couldn’t be greedy.

Evune turned back to the main room and then turned to where his clothing was placed. They had given him a whole room to hold his clothing with a cabinet full of jewels, circlet, chokers, and earrings that he had never seen before. He touched the cold jewels and a light fluttering flew in his chest.

The door slammed behind him and he jumped at the sound. Tarsian, dressed in his Archon robes, stomped in seething. He snatched off his hat and threw it on the ground. The Archon’s nose flared and his teeth grinding loud enough to be heard. Evune loosened his robe and let it float to the ground when an expression of relief fell on the Archon’s face. Tarsian yanked off his lower pants and yanked Evune forward, spinning him around. Evune dropped to his knees and Tarsian, without another word, thrusted forward, filling Evune to the hilt in one push. Evune gasped when Tarsian’s skin smacked against his ass. Tarsian didn’t wait a second before he slammed forward and pulled back with the sounds of their skin slapping getting louder. Sweat pooling in his hands, Tarsian clutched tight enough to hurt as he slammed in again and pulled out, his breathing harsh, as he sped up. Evune’s knees squeaked against the tiled flooring after each and every thrust and he couldn’t help but cry out. Tarsian quickened his pace like a piston, thrusting in and out, in and out, in and out, until Evune’s whole body began swinging to the repeated motions. Tarsian’s thickness soaked his insides and stretched him nearly to the point of pain. His thrusting slowing into a stutter as it stretched him as far as it could. Tarsian wrapped his hands around Evune’s chest as his climax shook out and he came more than he had ever before. His legs dripping heavily and loud enough to echo on the flooring with only their breathing to bounce off of.

He had come to him twice yesterday and three times the prior day. He would have to count the days and make sure that he didn't lose interest. Evune pulled himself loose, gasping slightly as his muscles twitched, and turned to Tarsian. He picked up a hand to Tarsian’s fingers. “What happened?”

“The Magisterium has agreed, since I have no heirs, that in the case that I die, Elvia Valens will be the new Archon.”

Evune felt his breath catch in his throat. He answered, “Does Elvia not want heirs?”

“Not with me.” Tarsian hissed and then gritted his teeth. “If you haven’t noticed Elvia’s appearance compared to her much tanner, darker relatives, she was adopted into the Valens as a child. A genius. . .but her small appearance gave way to rumors that she was part elven.”

“She grew to hate us.” Evune finished for him. The rules and logistics of order in the Imperium was discomfiting. It was highly unlikely she had any elven blood, yet the threat of the possibility was enough to make her hate them—as if it were their fault and not the Imperium’s. It was a convoluted logic, for sure. The war against Arlathan was centuries upon centuries ago. Why did they hold such hatred in their hearts still?

Tarsian wiped a heavy hand across his face. “She would never have a child with me in the fear that it could come out . . .”

“Elven.”

Tarsian frowned.

“Well,” Evune pursed his lips, “We’ll figure something out. I already have an idea in place.”

Tarsian squinted his eyes. “How long?”

“Two months.”

 “This has to do with your secrets.” Tarsian asked, he reached forward and clasped Evune’s shoulder.

Evune pursed his lips. “It does.”

Tarsian sighed. He stood up and then tried wiping off the caked remnants. “The bath?”

“You’re not going to push?”

Tarsian pulled Evune up. He said, “I trust you to do what’s right.” Evune laughed and stood up, wrapping his arm around Tarsian’s.

 

 

In all honesty, Evune wondered if he could be re-pregnant. Was that a possibility? He stood in front of the mirror, listening to the rustling of Tarsian as he redressed after their bath. He dragged his fingers along his stomach and felt his cheeks flush.

It was barely even grown. It might not end up to be anything at all. He pulled down his re-fitted leather under armor and his tunic on top. He pulled on his dark leggings that, of course, now stretched along his legs almost tightly. Tarsian snuck up behind him and kissed his neck. He gave a gentle tug on the braid.

“Have you ever thought of unbraiding your hair once in a while?”

Evune laughed. “It was easier in the humid forests to keep it out the way.”

“Now it’s the colder seasons, you need the opposite.” Tarsian spun the braid between his fingers before he began to unravel them. He reached the end of the final braid and wrapped his arms around Evune’s waist as unbraided waves tapped his cheeks. They stared at their reflections. “Beautiful. And if you’re going around Minrathous, wear some of the jewelry I’ve gotten you. You don’t want it to go to waste—the choker with my family crest, for example.”

“Hm,” Evune paused, playfully, pretending to be thoughtful, “I’m also just as likely to sell some jewelry and free the first servant or slave I see.”

Tarsian pressed him close and rubbed his hips to his stomach. “Be safe is all I ask. Elvia is not afraid. Not yet. But she is wary. And magisters don’t take kindly to losing their workers.”

 “Where are the others then? I can visit them in the meantime.” 

Tarsian pulled away. “You won’t like it.”

“Archon, sir.” A servant’s voice interrupted. Her head bowing lowly. “Consort Elvia sends message of her incoming visit.

“Incoming?”

The servant twitched on the spot. “As in soon, sir, very soon.” At the turn of Tarsian's back, the servant, Leilani's friend from earlier, stared at him deeply, unblinking until a second later where she mumbled something under her breath.

He never heard what she said.

 

Tarsian left to head off the surprise visit from Elvia by cutting her off down the road, while Evune prepared to leave. He packed a few trinkets of jewelry into a pouch and the white lace choker around his neck. His hands moved around the drawer until finding the dagger that Leilani told him about. There was a high chance he would need it as he waited for his guards to take post.

Evune made his way next door waiting outside of Sareethi’s door hearing the shouts of an argument.

“You can’t make me go, mother!”

“Things are unstable and this opportunity will make you strong and safe.”

Kaaras shrieked. “I won’t go!”

Sareethi swung the door open and Evune plastered a wide grin on his face.

“Why are you smiling?” Sareethi scoffed.

Evune could see Kaaras on the floor, red-faced and angry. “What’s happening?”

“Until we settle things,” Sareethi said carefully. “I’ve spoken with the Knight-Commander. They accept children for Templar training, even Vashoth non-mages.”

“The Knight-Commander?”

Sareethi answered, “Your old friend, Davan Vesces.”

He was promoted then. “I didn’t know.” Evune said more to himself than to anyone else. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize. This is the most safety we have had in many years. It only makes sense that the other Hole members are there too.”

Evune nodded.  “Elvia has direct access to them but she can't easily drop in like she can with the manor. Still, I hope Davan will be able to cope."

“Minrathous is constantly warring with itself.” Sareethi sniffed. “Davan will only be cleaning up disagreements like children at recess.”

“You've been here before.”

Sareethi tossed a look at her son, huffing around in the opposite direction, avoiding his mother’s gaze. “This is where I met Kaara's father. Now, let us leave.” Sareethi disappeared down the hall with Evune sending a worried glance at her disappearing form. He turned back around and found Kaaras standing up with his lips trembling, his eyes watering.

“We’ll be back." Evune leaned forward on his knees. "We’ll even bring back some sweets.” Kaaras rubbed his eyes before running forward and hugging him.

“Keep my mom safe.”

He returned Kaaras’ hug. “We’ll keep each other safe. I promise.”

“Just don’t fight any buildings, okay?”

Evune laughed. “Will do.”

 

In the volumes Nanterius handed him, he read that there was one main location where the dwarves lived called the “Ambassadoria”. No ordinary dwarves lived there either. These were the upper warrior castes and the nobles. Evune situated the collar and then winced.

“Did you even get any sleep this morning?”

Evune glared when Sareethi only laughed. He clutched his hood closer to his face as people rushed passed them.

 “One of the serving men said your friends are housed at the Chantry in the upper levels.” Sareethi said as they came around another corner in the looping streets. “If we ever have to, we’ll know where to find them.”

Evune sighed. “I don’t think any of the others have caught the attention of Elvia like I have. They should be safe.” He nearly bumped into the back of a merchant’s cart.

The underground city had only one way through and it was a way station for all merchants and tradesmen. Standing in front of them under a stone carved canopy that folded into itself, in to a tunnel, was a long line of travelers coming all the way from southern Thedas and even right here in Minrathous.

“Watch it, knife-ear!” The tradesmen shouted. He slapped a stick and his horse sped forward.

“Knife?”

Sareethi added, “It’s an insult.”

 Evune blinked. He brushed the brief discomfort away. He had never been insulted so angrily and to his face no less. “I remember a traveling clan calling elves they didn’t like flat-ears. I imagine it’s a similar insult.”

“Perhaps.” Sareethi straightened her shoulders and cocked her head. “We should hurry. The line is moving.”

Evune grabbed her arm and pointed ahead at the way station where Templar guards and two Dwarves stood writing down names one-by-one. “They’re checking people off. Elvia would find out in seconds if she didn’t know already.”

Sareethi propped her chin on her hands. “Got any ideas?”

They reached the halfway point when people started shouting and yelling near the front of the line. Evune tapped the shoulder of a woman standing in front of him. Her face in an expression of neutral kindness that broke into annoyance as soon as her eyes fell on him and Sareethi.

“Do you know—

The woman huffed and turned forward, while Evune’s hand stood still in the air from tapping the woman’s shoulder. He shifted a look at Sareethi who merely shrugged. Evune muttered under his breath, “I think I’m going to miss Vyrantium.”

A few people ahead of him started shouting, “You’ll let this nug shit through but not me!”

“Nug shit? Tell that to my face mabari fucker.” The other man shouted back.

The two men began swinging swords and weapons lazily without much skill. In fact, Evune swore he saw a few people sneak by the two fighters through the crowd. “Sareethi, come on.” He reached for Sareethi’s hand and tugged her through the line, pushing and shoving until they reached the opening where the sneaks stood whispering—they were nearly children and elven children no less.

Evune cupped his hands around his mouth. “We’ve got some sneaks here!” He knew full well his voice wouldn’t be heard over the shouts of the crowd but the three children swiveled fearful looks on him. He folded his arms. “What do you think will happen to you if you sneak inside there?”

The each of them couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old. None of them had markings or brands but that made the situation even worse. If they were caught . . .

The oldest one, a boy with dirty blonde hair, cockily strode forward and pulled out a scroll. “We have authority to come in.”

Evune raised a brow and then took the scroll. The first thing that caught his eyes was the seal of the Archon. “Really? So, you must be. . . Evunial of the Nazari Clan, formerly of Seheron.” He handed the scroll to Sareethi who placed it in the inner pockets of her armor underneath.

The boy proudly puffed out his chest. “I am. Now tell your Qunari to give it back. I’m a confidant of the Archon.”

The two other children stood behind the older boy’s back—a girl with black curls and tan skin with another boy, both no older than twelve, and a similar appearance.

“My _friend_ here is named Sareethi. And until you apologize, none of us are going anywhere.”

The boy bit his lip and then scratched his head. “I’m sorry, but—I—we really need to get inside.”

The little girl, with her brown hair and brown skin, her watering green eyes stood out to him. She broke in, tearfully, “My grandfather is in there. They took him.” She clutched even tighter into the third boy with similar hair and skin but dark eyes. He said nothing and merely glared at them.

Sareethi tossed him a look and Evune sighed. “I’m not giving you the scroll, da’len. It’s not yours.”

The three kids perked up and said, “But—

“ _But_ we all need to hurry inside before we’re caught.” Evune ended.

The three kids twisted around and ran down the darkened tunnel. Evune rubbed his fingers against his temple and tossed a passive look at the still arguing crowd behind them. He was glad _something_ worked out after all.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broke it into numbered parts so you can just ctrl+F to get back to where you were.

1.

His first impression of a Dwarven city was that of water and rocks. It distinctly smelled of clay and granite with the sharp feeling of pebbles always underfoot. This impression was incorrect and it was corrected as they crossed the bridge into Ambassadoria where more than a few tradesmen squeezed in. Their wares, carts, tables, and beasts of burden sat close enough that he could smell the scent of herb and animal sweat. This city appeared to be at the very least half the size of Minrathous. 

To describe the buildings as simply _made of stone_ ignored the actual intricacies of how the buildings looked. Carved buildings had the appearance of cutting, slicing, and the diminishment of the larger body of stone it once was. These buildings, here in Ambassadoria, appear  _molded,_ shaped like a child plays in the sand. The sharp brown mosaics were carvings of dwarven shaped smiths and craftsmen. Stout and wide statues of dwarven warriors holding their weapons over their heads and at their sides, greeting all those who entered. The deep river water murmured below the bridge, cleaner and clearer than he had ever seen—and he had lived on an island—beneath them shimmered under the reflection of the torches lit all around. Unlike Vyrantium, Minrathous, and even the whole of Seheron, the water had no color. If he hadn't seen the ripples, it would look as if the place was made wholly of stone. 

The children, much smaller and more wiry, rushed through, shoving through the openings that only a child could get into. “Keep an eye on them!"

Sareethi huffed before smacking a hand out, knocking at least three people out from trying to stampede past them.

The three children reached the end of the bridge and rushed off into a darkened alley. “There!” Sareethi and Evune shoved through the tradesmen, mostly with the help of Sareethi’s imposing figure and turned into the alley where the children ran into. He saw a flash of brown hair at the left corner and they were off again. He wasn’t sure how many turns and twists they made until they reached a section of the city where the architecture blended with Tevinter. Iron and metal intertwined like a loose skeletal bone poking out from its grave, the impenetrable stone structure of dwarven architecture.

They reached a dead end and standing in front of them was a random-mixed group of mercenaries with Vashoth, elves with and without Vallaslin, and humans. They were armored to the teeth with some of them carrying toxic-looking flasks, throwing blades, axes, and daggers. Barrels and the smell of oil and gunpowder were strong in this closed-in corner. Evune and Sareethi weren’t going to get very far even if they did try running.

The door of the warehouse swung open. One of the children, the eldest, started apologizing repeatedly. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I had the paper but then he--"

Oran sighed and crossed his arms. "It's alright, Denali. You did fine." He ruffled the boy's hair. He raised his eyes up and then gestured the children to go inside. The mercenaries moved as Oran came through to the front. “Well, aren't this a surprise. The elven _prince_ arrives.”

The mercenaries behind him chuckle. Sareethi twitches and Evune flings out his arm in front of her, they share a look before he walks forward. “I came here for personal reasons, but then I found a couple of children trying to sneak inside.” His eyes searched for an exit and when his eyes met Sareethi, she shook her head. "I was curious."

Oran tossed a look over his shoulder at the mercenaries standing behind him. He turned back with a sniff. “Well, it ain’t nothing _personal_ , but by the third day of waiting for you out at the port, we were jumped by a blood mage.  I guess all elves look the same because they took the Boss instead. ”

Sareethi spoke up, “The grandfather?”

Oran shifted around. His hands clenching into his sleeves where a dagger slid out. He began playing around with it. He sat on one of the barrels. “Most of us are either Liberati or orphans, if he’s her grandfather, he's ours too.” He glanced at Evune and rolled his shoulders. “You owe it to us to help us find him.”

Sareethi leaned in towards Evune, covering her mouth with her hand, “I might be able to get us some extra time. I’ll knock a few down.”

“I can’t.” Evune answered lowly, “If this is connected to the disappearances in Vyrantium then this is because of me. They want _my_ blood and they’re taking elves to experiment with it.”

Oran stood up and shouted, “Hey! No whispering amongst yourselves.” He struck the barrel's metal bolts with the flat-end of his blade, the clanging a sharp echo in the abandoned alley.

“Look,” Evune stepped forward and the mercenaries took one as well, he raised his hands up in surrender, “I was kidnapped by them too while I was in Vyrantium. They took me straight from my home.”

The mercenaries began talking between themselves.

“The Archon’s slave wasn’t even protected?”

“We can’t fight against that.”

“There’s barely enough resources for ourselves.”

“Enough!” The mercenaries silenced. Oran swung around, speaking angrily, “How did you get free then?”

“I broke out. I saved a few survivors, but,” Evune snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t know how to make it sound any better. He opened his mouth, “None of them were the elderly man you was with.”

Oran snorted. “We know that. We trailed them to this very city. But you still didn’t tell us _how._ ”

“They want to do experiments on elven blood,” Evune said, while he dropped his hands to his side. "It's--I don't know why but they think it'll help non-mages get magic."

"Fucking mages." Oran snorted. He shrugged his shoulders, still speculative.  “Where are the survivors then?”

The mercenaries agreed and repeated the question, “Where?”

“They’re with a friend of mine. One of them, Sid, he—

The kids must’ve been listening to the conversation through the window or a crack in the door because one of them ran out. “Sid? He’s still there?”

Evune lifted his eye’s to Oran’s and then dropped it to the girl’s. “Yes, my friend got him a job at a merchant stand. He’s still got to work on his balance, though. And his stuttering.”

The little girl giggled. “That’s definitely Sid!”

Oran pulled the little girl behind him and hissed, “This doesn’t take away your guilt. You got us wrapped in something we can’t get out of.”

“Then let me help.” Evune asked, pleading in his tone, “Tell me what you know and I’ll tell you what I know. We can meet in the middle.”

"Like before?"

"I've got information. Anything you want to know."

After a tense pause, Oran stiffly nodded. He tilted his head towards the building. “Over here.” The mercenaries and Oran poured into the building with only a few left behind as guards.

Sareethi lowered his voice. “We need to be careful. They may be with us now, but—

“I know, but I plan on making this partnership permanent,” Evune added in a voice just as low.

The building sprawled up three floors and had a basement that led to a settled-in catacomb. The buildings upstairs were blocked off and the only thing Evune caught sight of was some of the mercenaries taking off their weaponry before entering. Oran led them through the catacombs. Built with the thick walls, not unlike that of war barracks in Seheron, wooden walls to designate separate rooms over from the stone walls for children’s quarters, mercenary quarters, and family quarters, there was more than enough room for a small city just underneath the warehouse.  

Oran noticed Evune’s wandering gaze. Evune had been staring at an open room with parents speaking to young children, barely able to walk, they were packed with broken trinkets and roughly mended furniture scattered on the ground. Much like the items discarded on the dirt, they looked vacant, broken. “These are the waiting rooms for Liberati and runaways as we find a new room for them in our settlements.”

_“How far the People have fallen . . .”_

_Like a demon knows of true suffering. You’ve never existed in this world._

The voice paused. _“I have existed for far longer in dreams than out of, but I too know suffering. Flitting around in space is no life.”_

Evune pressed a hand against his temple and then dropped it to his chest. The demon seemed to speak in truth.

“You put the children in danger.” Sareethi said lowly, watching the children with dirt-smudged cheeks play with the broken toys.

Oran snorted.

Sareethi said, “As the leader, you have a duty—

Oran whirled around. He was angrier now than he had been the first time they met. “I’m no leader. We’re going to save Shielan and then he can handle this. I’m only temporary.” He turned back after a breath and continued walking down the cavern halls.

Seeing all the children, many of which were elven, a pang of guilt snuck in. Many of the parents had haggard appearances, their clothing loose against their bodies, and a lack of energy while their children laughed and bounced around. He. . .he wasn’t sure he was willing to sacrifice himself just to bring a child into a life of fear. And even if Elvia’s power was taken away, they—

“The kidnappings hit your home hard.”

Oran snorted. “We’ve always had a settlement here. This is how it’s always looked.”

“So,” Evune swallowed painfully. His throat felt like it had closed in on itself. “Liberati live like this.”

“Not all of us.” Oran bitterly said. “Most of us, though, yeah. You spend half your life--if you can--saving up for your freedom. But we’re disallowed from working as merchants or owning much personal property—most just fall back into a comfier servitude.”

Evune added, “The Magisterium isn’t helping either.”

 “Liberati have no rights under them. They can’t vote and they can’t own businesses. The magisters have no use for a people they can’t use.” Oran balled up his fists.

"Even if you're temporary," Evune said as Oran's angry gaze fell on him, "You can't let them live like this. They need something. You can't abandon them."

"Like you abandoned your people?" Oran tossed back. "Fog Warriors fight 'til the end, except for you. Yeah, we looked high and low for info about you."

Evune returned evenly. "Then you know we would do anything for our people. Even become a slave." 

"I'm here, aren't I?" Oran seethed.

Evune pressed forward, knowing that he was close enough for Oran to hurt him. "Then do something about it." Oran took a step back and scratched a hand against his chest.

"Follow me." is all Oran said before swiveling around and leaving the small hallway. Evune and Sareethi shared a look. If anything happened to Shielan, the Liberati movement was over far before it even began. 

They reached a break in the caverns where the wooden settlements, the walls ended and the rocky cave walls began. What stood in front of them was a vault-like door with gears and mechanisms wavering in and out of the cavern walls. Oran pulled out a key, a circular knob, and clicked it in. The gears spun around and the doors unlocked. Oran gestured the guards following them to stand watch as the three of them walked into a room more like an office than anything.

The room had a round table with a circular stone couch surrounding it. Although bare of decoration, it had a desk and a row of storage cases and bookcases. They slid into the seats and Oran unfolded a map with three sheets listing numbers.

“These numbers are the supplies’ numbers we’ve recorded over the past two weeks compared to two months ago. The tradesmen, for the most part, have been staying around their average except for these three.” Oran spread the three sheets across the table. “The first one is a surfacer. He’s a casteless dwarf and not highly respected. Most of his work will be illegal. The second one is a tranquil—he’s a mage that can’t do magic. The third is a dwarf from an average smith caste. We couldn’t find anything noteworthy about him other than his caste.”

Evune leaned forward. “A mage that can’t do magic.”

“Yeah, they’re a weird bunch. We don’t see them around here in Tevinter very often. His appearance set off several triggers.” Oran scratched his chin, “What I’m going to need from you is to question these people and gather info. We’re sure one of these guys knows something.”

“We might need some muscle.”

Oran waved his hand. “I’ll send two of our people with you. Can’t trust you to do it right, anyhow.”

Sareethi snorted. “Sounds great from the human afraid of leading.”

“Not everyone is meant to be a leader.” Oran remarked. He picked up the sheets, rolled them up, and handed them to Evune. “Take the sheets with you.”

“And the map?” Evune added.

The map was sewn cloth and the locations marked were stitchings of varying colors. Oran pointed at it, “This is a copy of what we’ve made of Ambassadoria and the known catacombs. You may not even need it, but it’s better you don’t get lost and the Archon’s guard start sniffing around.”

Evune clasped his hands as Oran continued to explain. He had yet to anger the Archon. In Vyrantium, there was a distance where Tarsian wouldn’t be linked. Here, though, was a different story. He would have to work quietly. "I'm going to have the documents dropped off here for storage."

"And the information?"

Evune nodded. "The Liberati and casteless taken in were tested on and experimented on."

"Shit."

"Most of them, from what I saw, didn't make it. Now, most of the people taken are young, healthy, and from Seheron. To take your leader is more of an act of--"

"War" Oran stood up and went to one of his bookcases, tossing out a bag of papers. "Those are the documents we got on you. We took a whole bunch of others to ward off suspicion but it seems like you were always number one on their list."

Evune pulled out some of the papers and they were dated notes, like a diary. On the later sheets, blood smeared the edges and nearly covered some of them. If he had to guess, this was Linnae's. He was the one Linnae's demon was looking for. "Do you mind if I keep these?"

Oran waved his hand. "They're creepy as darkspawn. Keep it. And--look, I'm sorry. Not for blaming you because Shielan's kidnapping was fuck-all your fault but because this is a hell of a way to be introduced to Tevinter."

Evune bowed his head and exhaled sharply. "If you have any questions, send your missives a magister named Nanterius."

Oran crinkled his nose. "You want me to work with a magister? Me?" He pointed at his chest and shook his head. "Didn't you hear? I'm not the leader."

"If you want to save your people, you don't have a choice."

2\.  

* * *

 

 "It's like a spider." Evune started to say and Sareethi's expression had already faded to amusement. "I'm serious. Vyrantium is one of the legs. The Liberati and casteless, these experiments, are another. And the last one is--

"The mirror."

Evune sighed. "I told you that in confidence."

 "It sounds less ridiculous the more I say it."

They entered the bulk of the city where torches lit up space like large rocks of glitterdust and people in caravans parked their stuff along the edges of the city.

“Gharin’s armament armors!”

“Kalika’s Jewelry! Jewels to be jealous of!”

“Reza’s ruby rum and ale!”

As soon as the smell of the bitter liquor hit his nose, Evune clutched Sareethi’s arm before spinning on his side and throwing up. She patted his back as he hunched over on his side.

"Disgusting elves." A posh Tevinter strode up. He flashed his rings and two elven slaves stood behind him with carts of clothing and runes. "We don't need any of your diseases here."

Sareethi opened her mouth, but Evune cut in before she could. "You'd better go before." Evune pretended to dry-heave and the mage upturned his nose, sweeping out in the opposite direction as far as possible. It was his luck that the smell of liquor hit him again.

"You're having the morning ill rather early." Sareethi added. "You could be having twins."

"Joy." Evune said before hunching over the Ambassadoria rails again.

“Are you alright, sir?” a monotone voice said behind them.

Evune turned around to find a man dressed in robes that were eerily familiar. A sharp flash of Carin and her mother’s robes that were cut in the exact same manner reminded him why. He lifted his hand weakly. “I’m fine.”

Sareethi stifled a laugh. Evune twisted a glare at her.

The man added, “I have mild elfroot potion for nausea. Would you like some?”

His tone of voice was equally measured and equally paced.

“Are you alright?” Evune asked, his gaze scrutinizing the man. The man looked fine and his cheeks appeared healthy, no sweat.

“If you are wondering about my voice, I am Tranquil. Our speech patterns differ from others.”

_“Abomination.”_

Evune glanced at the potion and then pressed a hand to his mouth as his throat jerked. He shook his head, barely catching the word spoken.

_Bully._

_“To be torn from the Fade is a cruel punishment—these Tranquil.”_

_He’s a criminal then._

_“No more than you or I.”_

“There is a place to sit down by the fountains. You can follow me if you would prefer.” The man said as he began to walk through the bulk of the people.

Evune gestured at the man. “It’s him.”

“We’ll see. It’s never that easy.” Sareethi deadpanned. “Especially with you.”

Evune shot back, “Trouble is attracted to all elves. Not only me.”

“For as little as I know about you, I would disagree." Sareethi sniffed, checking around the corners for anyone tracking them. "Tell me number three again.”

Evune gave a weak grin and then motioned for the two extra guards, an elf, and a Vashoth, to stand back. "Everyone has magic."

 

 

The fountain wasn’t too far away. Evune wobbled to the fountain seating, feeling less nauseous and dizzier. He cradled his head in his hands. If this was how the first few months would be, how will the rest of them be?

The Tranquil held his hands behind his back as he breathed in the mist of water splashing up. Sareethi tilted towards the fountain and began looking at the sides of it. The fountain had figures carved into the sides like a storyboard telling a dwarven tale. Every once in a while, she looked over at the Tranquil when he moved or breathed especially loud.

“You may call me Jed.”

“I’ve heard it’s not normal for you to be traveling down around here.” Evune prodded. He pressed another hand against his temple when it throbbed. “Why?”

“If you are here to record my day-to-day routine, I will let you know that I am only here to find a book.”

“A book.” Sareethi said in disbelief, “You would travel to an underground city for a book.”

“It is for the King’s wife.” The Tranquil added, “And it is no ordinary book. It is a treasured book on the training and farming of nugs. Few copies exist outside of Dwarven cities.”

“The Queen of where?”

“The Queen of Ferelden.” Jed answered.

"Southern Thedas? You must know of the situation there. I've heard rumors of war and rebellion.”

“Orlais had been,” the Tranquil paused, “battling Ferelden’s royal family. The royal family won and has now taken the seat in separating the two countries.”

“And they no longer fight? Their war simply ended.” Evune said. He wondered a life free of war and the threat of it.

Jed answered, “War is merely the continuous disagreement of two sides. Once there is nothing to be won, the war will end.”

“A simple conclusion.” Evune shook his head. “I wish you well on finding the book.”

"Not necessarily." The Tranquil added. "Orlais insults them and calls them animal. It will only rouse a rebellion that I have no doubt Ferelden will win."

“Why?"

"When a person is pushed to the brink, they are capable of much more than the average."

Evune agreed. It was a lesson in many ways. "I hope your travels go well."

“Yours as well.” The Tranquil bowed his head and then turned back into the bulk of people traversing the main areas disappearing among them.

Jed wasn't the person they were looking for, but he was not looking for a book. He knew that much.

 

3. 

* * *

 

The second location the map led them to was a derelict lower level. It seemed the lower they went, the shadier the people and the businesses. It seemed correct for someone Oran listed as a “Lyrium Smuggler, Gang fighter with a smart mouth”. People crowded in corners and tossed dices on the roads. There were no merchants and although hooded, their appearance caught the attention of nearly everyone they passed.

Sareethi read the paper. “It says he has a bald head, red hair, and four horizontal black marks across his face.”

Evune peered around the corners taking a quick glance at all of the dwarves standing around. Nearly all of them had marks on their faces, but a dwarf with a full-head of hair and a long braided black beard barked, “Looking to assassinate someone, Emrynek’s crew are your guys.”

Sareethi crossed her arms and a few of the dwarves standing behind Emrynek cowered. Emrynek huffed and knocked a hard shoulder into the nearest one. “Ancestor’s balls, would you all man up!”

Evune smiled, “We’re looking for a casteless with four lines on his face.”

Emrynek crossed his arms and grunted. “All you elves think if you bat your eyelashes everyone is just going to trip over to please you. Well, not me!” He spit on the ground. “Every one of us is casteless. And we don’t betray our own!”

“Unless you got coin.” One of the dwarves added.

The others nodded. “Three gold for each of us.”

Sareethi pulled out a leatherskin pouch and dropped thirteen gold coins. The dwarves scrambled on the dirt ground, snatching them up.

Emrynek dusted off his armor and then sneered at the dwarves shoveling gold into their pockets. “They’re lucky we’re not like Tevinter. I would’ve dropped my boys years ago. Those frilly mages and their fear of multiples. Multiple lightning, multiple monsters, and multiple children—not sure there’s a difference between the three, but there you go.”

“Congratulations, they seem. . . well-adjusted.” Evune added.

Emrynek huffed. “Don’t know why you even want that stupid kid anyhow. They got as much sense as a deepstalker.” Sareethi handed him the paper and Emrynek smacked his hand against it. "The kid's in the carta. Temral’s not a bad kid. But you got to survive and minings the only--well, lyrium."

“Could you show us where mines?”

Evune said wearily. "It can't be more valuable than a life."

“You paying me?”

Evune rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

 

 

 

Emrynek kicked one of the unconscious armored guards they knocked out. "Blasting nugnuts! Someone rich must be paying them. These are legion-thick plates.” The mining section of the lower floors were led from metal and wood ladders leading deep into the darkness of the caverns. The dwarven architecture ended and they crept behind rocks to keep out of sight of patrolling dwarves heavily armored. “Only the carta got these marks and shaved hair. Everyone. Don't got the money to do much more."

“Casteless are like Liberati then.”

“No comparison. Without a house, the Shaperate says we don't exist."

They hunched over one of the boulders searching for Temral when the mine shuddered and a roared echoed up the cavern with a gust of wind. One of the dwarves shouted, “We found another vein!” A group of dwarves cluttered together and disappeared down the cavern.

Evune had the elven and Qunari guard stand back but the rest of followed the shouting dwarves. The air pressure dropped the deeper they went and another monstrous roar sounded shaking the cavern.

“These quakes.” Emrynek grunted. “No one’s said a thing about it upstairs. I don’t like it.”

They reached the lower cavern and slid down another pair of ladders before reaching a cavern of near pitch-blackness. Evune pressed his hand against the wall and veins of lyrium began appearing, inking across the cavern walls and lighting up the way forward.

“Blast it.” Emrynek cursed. “With some proper tools, there's golds by the stones' worth of lyrium.”

When the whole cavern began to tremble and shake, the gust of wind, instead of blowing towards them sucked them in, pulling them through the cavern all the way to the end of the tunnel where they slid into a pool of water. Before they could plummet to the ground, a gust of wind gently laid him down.

Transparent hands caught him by the waist as he lowered to the ground with his knees bending. _“This is no ordinary magic. This is—_

The voice cut off sharply and the hands disappeared. Lyrium lit up the room like branches and spindles of webbing.

 _Demon!. . ._ Evune shouted in his mind. His eyes searched around the cave. He retracted his earlier insult.  _Spirit?_

Emrynek jumped up. “Fucking nug-fuckers on the Ancestor’s ass. What was that?” 

Sareethi pulled Evune up by the hand. “You okay?”

Evune slowly nodded. The wind blew in again, far less violently, and a voice spoke to him. It didn’t speak in words or language. It was through his veins.

Emrynek swiveled around. “Who—did one of you say that?”

“You heard it too.” 

Emrynek tapped his feet on the ground, “It was the Stone.”

“The stone speaks.” Evune said in disbelief.

“Your people called us the Children of the Stone for a reason.” Emrynek scoffed. “Every Paragon damned dwarva knows that.”

The wind started shrieking and the sounds of it voice turned to words.

“Why have you come?” the wind whistled along his ears. Evune turned to Sareethi and Emrynek who remained still. He waved his hand over their faces. They were frozen. The lines of lyrium lining the ridged walls flashing. Evune's eyes veered on the ceiling. Evune demanded.  “Unfreeze them.”

“The elves no longer speak. Magic is sick. Why have you come?” it repeated. 

 Evune muttered to himself. "And you’re one of the creatures made of stone—a Titan.”

The cavern trembled, stalactites cracked and fell when the voice spoke again, “Why have you come?”

“I did not wish to fight you.” Evune said. He swallowed painfully, his throat dry.

The voice boomed and the wind smacked against his face. “SPEAK!”

Evune burst out, “I want to know what makes my blood special. What is Dragon Fire?” Throwing his hands up to push up against the wind blowing in his face, the wind stopped only to blow in, smacking his braids in his face, the creature laughed.

“You are not special.”

It shouldn’t have hurt like it did. He had told himself the very same thing for a greater half of his life.  “Then what is the connection?”

“You are the key to our armistice.” The wind said. “There is peace only when you breathe. There is calm only when you fight. You are the last. If there are no more. . .the world will tear itself apart with you as an open wound. For Toth. . . is not dead."

“You haven’t told me what Dragon Fire is.” Evune hissed. “How does it give people magic?”

“It gives nothing to those who don’t already own. It is no birthright. It is a curse." The Titan spoke as if it had said these very lines before, perhaps even a hundred times before. The voice gurgled, with bits of lyrium dripping from the walls as the cavern trembled again. Rocks and pebbles fell from the ceiling, stalactites shattered on the floor splashing in the pocketed mounds of water. Evune lost his balance, falling to his knees as a stone box pushed its way through the cavern walls. "On pain of death, the dragon returns to engulf the sun. Its piece remains. Your namesake did not succeed.”

"I WILL SHOW YOU." The Titan's voicelessness shrieked at a pitch that deafened him.

 

His eyes blurred and when it cleared he was no longer in the cavern but in a temple. The temple was enshrouded with dark gold plates and statues. Stone ground and stone walls that were nothing like Dwarven architecture. It was ancient. It was Elvhen. The stylistic curves and drawing of figures splayed across the walls with wide eyes and animalistic connotations to their form. The owl, the halla, the ravens, and hawks were just symbols of the gods. What did it mean that they were all predators but the one who was not born a god?

He overlooked the steps he stood at the head of and found two elves striding up them. The woman strode up the stairs with a swagger that seemed impossible with the curved mass of hair upon her head, much like three horns on each side of her scalp. The man beside her, far more dour, wore a thick golden shield upon his back with winding thick white hair upon his head and a crown-like circlet upon his head. Both of them wore this gold plated armor with sharp edges at its curvature that protected them from stray attacks and what Evune surmised would be direct attacks as well.

"It would seem naught, you think?" the woman said as they reached the top of the steps, walking through Evune as if he weren't even there. He must be in that dream state once again. The Titan must have had a purpose in showing him this. "He won't appreciate it, the stubborn fool."

The dour elf answered, "You imagined him and his nature would allow him. His purpose has always been clear. To deride you from your true duties."

"He is my friend." The woman laughed. Her hands waved in the air and Evune twisted around to find a large hulking statue of Fen'Harel. His breath rattled in his throat. "I know him much better than you as we know how our last council dinner went."

Evune squeezed his eyes shut.  _Please, don't say any names._

"He put his leg on the table! It's unsanitary." The elf sniffed, rolling his shoulders. "And he drinks far too much. He has no sense of control."

"Well, Andruil thought it was quite humorous."

"She would. The uncouth child. The bunch of them with not a wit for the seriousness of their duty."

 _And they did it._ His eyes flashed open. The two elves, two of the great elven gods, were no longer standing in front of him. He ran down the hall searching the first corridors and spinning through arches until he reached a large open room where a dragon sat in front of him--blackened scales and claws. A league of archers and warriors rushed into the hall at the ready to attack with the dour elf injured beside the dragon's hind leg. The soldiers standing at ready all had the white hair as Evune. "They attacked them."

"There." The Titan said, as the small army split and a woman, thick black hair and brows, broke through the ranks carrying twin blades, much like leaves made of thickened glass. Her steely brown eyes sharper than her blades. "The dragon is both a creator and destroyer. You must give up your birthright or die as you ancestors."

"Evunial." The injured man said blithely. "I should have known you and your men would do such a thing."

"You've enslaved our people and lied to us for centuries." The woman replied, haughtily, "Did you expect any less?" A soldier ran up to the woman and muttered into her ear. "Must we attack Mythal." Evunial gritted her teeth and shouted, raising her blades. "I do not wish to hurt you Mythal, but if you protect the deceiver, the tyrant Elgar'nan, we have no choice!"

"Do you think changing your hair black cures you?" Elgar'nan laughed. The dragon, Mythal, huffed. Her wings flapping in the air but not quite aggressive yet. "You are still what  _we_ made you. An instrument of death! You can't help but kill!"

The woman's lips curled and she hissed. "Kill them." The army rushed forward as the dragon inhaled, smoke filling up the room when Mythal screamed. The world around them swirled and that grotesque color of yellow, red, and, green mixed together in the sky exploding into a flash of light. 

The army of his ancestors began clawing at their skin, screaming, and blood spilled from their eyes, their ears, and mouth. The leader, Evunial, was the only one who did not. She spit at Mythal, barely able to hold her sword as her eyes bled red. 

"You would murder your people." Evunial spit again until the golden floors were velvet. "We prayed to false gods."

Mythal transformed again snatching up the injured Elgar'nan and disappeared into the sky. Evunial dug her sword deep into the floor, cracking it in half, and clutching her side as blood poured from her ears. Her skin peeling and burning beneath the blood.

When Evune turned to the army, there were no longer elves. The Titan spoke like a hammer striking the anvil and tempering metal. It was quick and scornful.

"They were the Darkspawn."

He jolted back into his body and into the cavern. His heart hitting his rib cage while the lyrium veins lit in the cavern had disappeared.

"The stories say she lived forever!" and the Titan's final words sunk into his ears. "It can't be true. My ancestors--No, you're lying to me!"

“What of Evunial's dragon? The mirrors?” He twisted his head around and the wind wisped into silence. "If the stories are untrue, who destroyed Arlathan!" Evune clenched his fists. _And what am I?_ As he tightened his fists, allow a small cut to bled.  The sheer pulsing thrumming in his wrist and veins strumming up again. He dropped a hand to his stomach and then quickly to his side. Emrynek and Sareethi unfroze, their bodies unsticking themselves from what had glued them to the air. Evune brushed a shaky hand over his face and said, “We need to leave and find the others.”

"I swear there was a quake." Emrynek wobbled to his side. "I feel drunker than my cousin at his wedding. What kind of ale was that?" 

"A Titan."

Emrynek shook his head. "Never heard of it. Got a hell of a swing, though. I should bring some to the boys." His eyes fell on the misshapen rock sticking out from the walls. "The hell is that?"

Evune walked forward but Sareethi threw out her hand, taking the first step towards it instead. As soon as her first step pressed into the ground, the rocks crumbled into pieces leaving behind a body.

"It's him." Evune said, before rushing past Sareethi, crouching over Shielan's still form. He covered his mouth. "He's breathing but he needs to go back to the warehouse now."

"We'll get one of the guards to do it," Sareethi advised with a sigh. "I don't like this. It seems too convenient."

"To you." Evune hissed. His body and mind numb.  _Focus._

Sareethi heaved Shielan on her shoulder without another word.

 

4.

* * *

 

 

 

They stood a few steps away from the entrance to the upper floors and the guards blocking the way were well-armored dwarves with axes and pommels on their back. The large stone column was large and wide enough for the group of them to hide behind. Sareethi slid Shielan off her shoulder. She turned to one of the guards—the elven one. “Your name.”

“Lanehn.” The elf saluted with a hand against his chest. He lowered his hood and a cheeky grin appeared with the marking of a Tevinter magister brand on his collar. It looked like the Vesces crest but faded out to a lighter gray than the dark black of Arnarel’s.

“Take him back to the warehouse. Tell the kid--

"Oran?" Lanehn questioned.

Sareethi tossed a look of annoyance. "Tell the  _kid_ that we found his leader. He can stop playing house now."

Lanehn nodded slowly and hauled the older elf around his shoulders. Without another look back, he disappeared back into the alleys of the city. Sareethi turned to Evune, seeing his eyes staring blankly into the Ambassadoria's natural darkness.

“Are you going to explain?” Sareethi said as she situated Evune’s “upper caste” clothing. In Evune's distraction, he hadn't pulled up his sleeves or clasped his collar. He looked a mess. 

"We thought we had it more right than the Dalish." Evune replied with a laugh, breaking eye contact, "I read the stories. Soaked it in like a daydream. Every day I failed I _knew_ it. How was I to know they failed me first?"

"I would take what ever it said with a grain of salt." Sareethi added. "You told me they hate elves."

"And that's how I know it's true." Evune choked, "The truth is far worse than any lie could've been. And if the Hand of Thoth is related to that. If we don't stop--"

“You have to tell someone. Or ready a lie for them. This is supposed to be their chance at glory."

“I know.” Evune said quietly. He thought of Tarsian, even Davan. They would feel betrayed if he told them. It was better off they not know.

Sareethi shook her head. "You'll have to delay Deshanna."

"Deshanna was never going to send in the map. Never wanted it in Tevinter hands. I thought if I asked Arnarel to go with her there would be no choice, but, now, she gets her wish."

Sareethi leaned forward, "What's our next plan?"

"We cut off its feet and then its head. Once the spider's dead, then we'll plan."

Sareethi picked up the white stone necklace he had wrapped around his arm but draped it over his head. Around the stone column, Emrynek stood tapping his feet. "I'm tellin’ you. We dwarva are above pretty elves flaunting their cheeks.” He lifted a thumb behind him. “The guards won’t let you through.”

 "I don't believe Elvia doesn't already know I'm down here. We have to distract her from Oran, Shielan, and his people."

“Slightly,” Evune frowned. He told her, “but the only way this can work is if we separate. Someone is going to follow me, there’s no doubt. All they’ll know is that I’m with a Vashoth.”

“Gunak.” The Vashoth finished. He lowered his hood as well and his hornless, dark hair appeared. His eyes a dark blue. “You can call me Gunak.”

Emrynek huffed. “Now that everyone’s introduced. Where am I?”

“With me still.”

 

 

 

The Diamond Quarters was all marble and granite. There were no jagged or sharp edges and all stones were sanded smooth. Evune hadn’t been wrong, though. A group of armored dwarves rushed towards them and Emrynek began laughing when the first mace struck his ax. “Yes, a bloody fight! Finally!”

Sareethi stood on the far side of the pathway and Evune gestured with a head tilt, “Go.” She nodded and lifted up her hood, disappearing down the path. Emrynek and Gunak finished the fight nearly as soon as it had started with the bodies of the unconscious littering the floor.

“These people wear the same markings as those who attacked us and took the Boss.” Gunak said.

Evune dislodged the armor of one of the dwarves, using the dagger Davan had given him, and pulled off a bandana snug underneath. It was the crest of Valens. “At least we’re on the right track.”

“The crest of Valens.” Emrynek said anxiously, latching his ax back to his armor plate.

Evune nodded carefully. “Problem?”

“No, but it would’ve been nice to know.” Emrynek added, he rubbed his nose, “My fee is now doubled. Just so you know.”

“I wouldn’t do any less.” Evune and the rest strode down the streets, staring at the empty vendor tables, fountains, and benches. The lights of the street 

“There’s no one in the streets.” Gunak cautioned. “Something’s not right.”

“Blasting nug-knockers.”

Evune drew his eyes up to the top of the buildings and down to the corners of the streets. There wasn’t a person out wandering or walking. In front of them sat Roka’s Reach with the light still flashing signaling they were open for business. Evune pushed the door open to find the bar empty except for a bartender and a dwarf at the upper platform sitting.

Emrynek stomped forward and boasted, “Kalag, what’re you doing here on this shift?”

The dwarf, much skinnier and more timid than any other dwarf Evune had ever seen, moved his eyes from Evune to the dwarf at the upper platform before swallowing.

“Kalag,” Emrynek turned his neck to follow the bartender’s line of sight before slapping his hand on the bar, “You there?”

The bartender, Kalag, lifted up a cup and began drying it. “He’s waiting for you up there.”

Emrynek glued a confused expression but Evune pushed passed him to the dwarf sitting at the table. The dwarf looked older than Evune by more than a few years, but he fit the description.

Bald. Red hair. And a four line marking across his face.

“We’ve been looking for you.” Evune admitted.

“Yeah,” the dwarf said exasperated. “I’ve heard. Look, I don’t know what’s going on but I was told to give you this.”

He pulled out a letter from his pocket and slid it to Evune. Evune picked up the letter and read.

It was Deshanna’s handwriting:

            _It’s not your fault. It was mine._

                                Deshanna I. Lavellan

He flipped the letter over. That was it. He whipped around and hissed, “Where is she?”

“Hey, I’m just the messenger.” He sipped his ale and moved to walk out when Emrynek strung the dwarf up by his collar.

“You know more than that, nug-shit. Tell us.” Emrynek tightened his hold on the dwarf’s collar until he sputtered.

“I know they were talking about a map and how she had it. A dragon. That’s it! Let me down.”

Emrynek dropped the dwarf with a loud thump. He rushed to the door and shoved it open hoping there would be a hint, a clue, or even that Elvia got too cocky and appeared herself. Standing outside of Roka’s Reach was Marcella with armored Tevinters holding a sword to her throat. Her porcelain mask shattered on the ground. He saw her face for the first time with a burn mark, splotched dark red, covering part of her face and fear painted on it. “I didn’t do this.”

One of the armored men marched forward and bowed. He put out his hand and there it was—the map. His eyes jumped to Marcella’s watered expression.

“I thought she was trying to make us better.” Marcella cried out. “She wants to kill us, kill everything.”

The armored men knocked Marcella down to her knees and tied a cloth around her mouth, silencing her. “Sir,” the other armored Tevinter walked forward, “Archon Vesces asked us to have you speak to him after your time.”

“My time?” Evune questioned.

Two dwarves, well-dressed in bulleted gold and diamonds in their tunics, and one with hair as white as snow, perhaps even whiter than his own, spun around the corners with several thickly armored dwarves surrounding them. His eyes fell on them and widened as he shouted, “You! You’ve caused this!” He gestured towards Evune and the thickly armored dwarves marched towards them.

Evune reeled back. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be,” the white-haired dwarf shouted, “Guards! Guards! Arrest this vandal. Accusing my people of criminal behavior. Tarnishing the great bond between Tevinter and the Dwarven Empire.”

Dwarven guards appeared from either side of him, pushing Gunak and Emrynek out from his sight as they clamped handcuffs. He twisted around to find the armored Tevinters and Marcella gone.

 

5.

* * *

 

 

They threw him in a dirty, dingy jail with rats and a pile of trash in the corner. He grappled at the bars, shaking them but they didn’t budge an inch.  He started shouting, screaming through the bars knowing that no one could hear him. He knew he was embarrassing himself. He was regressing.

His hands slipped down the bars and he fell in front of them. His mind numb. It was his first day in this city and he had already messed up.

Deshanna was missing. And Elvia had the map. 

“Are you done?” The aged voice mocked. “I’m surprised after those theatrics you can still breathe.”

Evune said nothing. He clenched his hands tighter to the bars hoping they would snap in two.

“Dressed in crystals and finery.” The man continued to say, “You’re the worst kind of Tevinter slave. Your magister dolls you up like a gilded cage to cover up your situation. Where’s your master now, elf?”

“Stop it.”

“Using frills and satin as conduits for magic, it’s an abomination is what it is.”

The bars felt cold against his skin and the cool breeze wisped up from the openings and cracks of the cell. Evune turned to the dwarf, annoyed, and feeling an itchy irritation spread across his collar. “My clothing glows because of the jewels not because—

The dwarf snorted. “You mean that necklace o’ yours? A tracking rune. Any basic smith could sniff that a mile away!”

"You're lying." Evune lifted an angry gaze at the dwarf. "You don't know anything about me but you'd rather insult a  _slave_ why?"

“There are elves that exist who survive on pride alone. They’re not coddled pets or hopeless, drugged up elf look-alikes. They're _real._ "

Evune lifted up a watered glare at the ceiling at this dwarf’s irony. He laughed. “This is the reality. You must be drunk like every other one of your people.”

The dwarf said wistfully as if Evune had never spoken. “ I used to trade with elves who spoke of such honor—the Fog Warriors of Seheron. They told me of Dragon Fire. A lost relic of their past.”

Evune’s grasped slipped from the bars. He twisted around and stared at the dwarf.

“Yelan Roka is my name, elf, and I’m owner of Roka’s Reaches, the best damn tavern here. Not that it matters anymore.” The dwarf sighed heavily. “I was building a weapon of gold, of diamonds, and rubies. Not literal but of value. It formed to the skin of the bearer and worked as an armor too. I could’ve been Paragon if I could multiply it but it’s meant only for one. Those with an immunity to lyrium.” The dwarf, dressed in rages, his face smudged with dirt and ran his fingers through his ratty beard. “I bet those damn mages killed the last of a great people.”

He pressed a shaky hand to the necklace and ripped it off onto the jail flooring.  “ You were the one who knew my father. What did he give to you?”

Roka tugged his beard. “No.”

“Stop being stubborn. We're both jailed with no way out." Evune tossed an incredulous look at the ceiling before slamming his hand against the bar over and over again. “There is nothing else for you, for any of us but what my father told me. Tell me. Now!" He whipped around at the wheezing sounded behind him, Roka had slumped in the corner.

"Any more noise and we're going to beat the nug shit out of you!" The guard from the outside shouted. 

Evune dropped his head against the bar, watching, hoping Davan, even Tarsian, no matter how angry he would be, would know he was here. “I was told to look for a Roka by my father Dhavihal.”

The dwarf burred awake with a snort as if it had just been a quick nap. He shook his head repeatedly. “Impossible.”

“He was a warrior head of the Nazari. And my mother—” Evune’s voice broke. “I don’t think--You're right, you know. I have no power. None.” He grasped his hands tight to his chest and his own self-hatred spurned. "I found more questions than answers. And now, here I am, waiting for someone to save me."

“Dhavihal.” The dwarf repeated, his voice as if lost until it found its way back, “He had me build the weapon for him. But I don’t have it. They have it all. They have everything.” He slumped back against the wall. "My life's work."

Evune pressed his side into the wall and wondered how long he would be stuck in the cell. The cold grain of the prison scratched against his back and the sand dusted up between his toes. He gritted his teeth and held up his shoulders to ward off the cold as his eyelids fell without warning. His body still shivering.

_“Evune, are you well?”_

_You disappeared again._ Evune shivered against the cold brush of air through the cracks in the stone again. His teeth chattered before Evune could stop it.

_“Not by choice. That creature weakened our connection and I. . . it was like I had fallen asleep again.”_

_I’m sorry. I don’t believe you’re a demon. Not anymore._ The Titans words only proved it. He could’ve been making an ally instead of fighting another war in his own mind. He bent forward out from the cold breeze feeling that it was a welcoming chill helping him focus on anything but his mistakes.

 _“You have **nothing** to be sorry of.”  _Invisible arms fell around his shoulders when Evune’s eyes closed. _“I will keep you warm.”_

 

 

 

He felt a stick poke at his arm.

 It reminded him of when he and Carin slept in the trees during the warmer seasons. Swinging his leg on the branches, the wave of cool air would wash over him and the tree branches would graze his free-hanging leg. The very first year, he slept in a tree he fell out of it. A flutterbug tickled his ear and when he opened his eyes, he panicked and fell.

His parents told him the flutterbug didn’t fear him. His parents told him that his fear wasn't even the bug itself. It had been a premonition of understanding when things didn't make sense when things didn't fit. They had never seen flutterbugs in their parts of Seheron.

The next day a swarm of flutterbugs destroyed their sister clan’s crop. It wasn’t until his father and their clan’s warriors went to offer support that they found out it was a plot planned by the Qunari.

The clan had been massacred.

His eyes flew open and he found Sareethi’s serious expression staring back at him. “I’m breaking you out.”

“You can’t.” Evune said as he raised his head up, “I’m being punished for a reason. Elvia duped us but _I_ was tricked. Things are already unstable and I made things worse.”

“It can’t have—

“If Archon Vesces dies, Elvia becomes Archon. Marcella thinks she wants to destroy Tevinter.” Evune said contemplatively, “If he gets dethroned or voted out the same thing happens. Elvia doesn't have anything to lose.”

Sareethi paced in front of the iron bars. "She knows about the dragon? Then why would she want to destroy her home?"

"The only reason," Evune started to say, "is if she doesn't see it as one. A starving child on the street gets offered food not knowing the promise they've made. She's embittered. Tarsian only makes it worse with his hatred of her. If there's more to this hatred, I don't see it."

  
"While you stew in thoughts about your lover and your lover's wife," Sareethi said. Pressing a finger against the jail cell bars, a white dust covered her fingers. “You know I can’t leave you here. This cell is covered in mousebane."

Evune huffed. "I know, but did you smell it?"

Sareethi gave him a strange look before sniffing the powder. Her brows furrowed and then unfurrowed. "It's mixed with elfroot and spindleweed."

"Someone tried to kill me tonight." Evune said. His hand had long since lost their shakiness. He knew he could've lost everything in more ways than one. "Someone else saved me."

"Who--?"

"Psssst." A voice whispered. It came from the small opening of cold air pushing into the cell. Evune rubbed his hands against his shivering shoulders and dropped one of his eyes into the opening. It was Oran. "Are you breathing?"

"What do you think?" Evune tossed back. "I'm guessing I have you to thank for the spindleweed and elfroot."

Oran slyly said, "It was our little tranquil friend, actually. I knew those dwarven upshots were up to no good. I called out a favor." Oran's form was blurry and indiscernible through the small crack. Evune pulled away from it and leaned back against the wall.

"I owe you." Evune answered, his voice nearly broke. "I--there's more at stake than you know."

"I'm only paying you back for getting Shielan back." Oran paused. "Some of the liberati you gave jewels to were able to buy and bring back supplies. You saved us in more ways than one tonight."

Evune hung his head and swallowed deeply. He rubbed a loose hand against his eyes and sniffed. He looked over his shoulders at the now snoring dwarf, “Sareethi, can you find out where they’re keeping this dwarf’s stuff?”

Sareethi crossed her arms.

“It's Yelan Roka. Don't ask me how it happened.”

"I know how it happened. You're a real lucky son of a varghest." Sareethi’s gaze jumped to the dwarf’s still form and then back to Evune’s. “I’ll take it back to your room if I find anything. The map?”

“Offer it to the Archon. It's too late. He knows about it now. He’ll be furious that we didn’t tell him about it earlier, but it will stave off the heat.”

Oran interrupted. "The Archon can't know about any of this. He'll slaughter us without a second look. If he even sniffs out a rumor that the Liberati and the casteless are working together, we'll be murdered in groups." Evune could hear his voice mumbling and then raising in pitch before lowering again.

"He wouldn't--

Oran cut in, "He's going to do whatever the Magisterium tells him to do. If they ask him to jump, he's always going to have to ask 'how high'?"

Sareethi agreed. “You can’t trust him. None of this makes any sense. He meets with Elvia the day he kidnaps Deshanna? He finds the map and you in the middle of an underground city."

"Something stinks around here." Oran added in. "You've got a snake, a traitor somewhere. You need to smoke 'em out before we all get burnt."

Evune wasn't going to tell them about the tracking rune. He knew it would be the final nail on the door. “Elvia is the enemy. Tarsian has just—

"Look," Oran interrupted again. "I have more than a few hundred lives I have to keep safe on a daily basis. When you can think past your  _feelings_ , contact us." Evune listened to the shifting of feet beyond the crack in the wall and then it fell quiet. Oran had left. His eyes drew back up to Sareethi's.

Sareethi already had that shifting gaze again. “You may have to think about the fact that the Archon isn’t the savior you hoped for and what this may mean for the future.”

He was unwilling to give up on Tarsian. Not yet. He needed him and Tarsian was there for him when he needed him. There was too much use.

“No,” Evune scoffed, knowing it sounded insincere in his ear. “He has been one of the few _stable_ pieces of my new life. And we need him.”

“Do we?” Sareethi questioned.

“He’s the strongest piece we have.”

“Then we need to find a replacement. You know this isn’t good for you.” Sareethi pushed her arm through the bars and gripped Evune’s shoulder. “He never even told you about the accords. He didn’t stop Elvia from grabbing you. He’s not a good man.”

Evune closed his eyes and listened to her footstep go into the distance until he couldn’t hear it altogether. Without another word, warm arms fell around him again.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-con. It's not graphic but it is pretty awful. Kind of important but you'll be able to piece things together if you skip the scene.
> 
> The scene will end where the chapter break starts.

_13 th day of Parvulis_

The guards came in, in the middle of the night. Roka had been taken out the day before and Evune knew it wasn't without purpose. He had to breathe through his nose, counting, meditating, while he waited in the cold cell. He didn’t know where they took him, but he hoped he would find him again. He would need to apologize for stealing his stuff.

When they unlocked the cell, no one spoke to him. Not even in the way there.As soon as they left Ambassadoria, a sharp biting cold wind came through and a thunderstorm right after. The rain felt like frozen pellets banging at his skin. They helped him into the carriage and helped him out of it when they reached the manor. The servants merely bowed their heads avoiding his gaze. Tarsian had wanted to speak to him in the middle of the night when the Magisterium would be unable to interfere but he doubted that meant he wasn’t going to be punished. No one wanted to be in the range of that fire.

The punishment would be bad. Bad enough that the magisters would know that it was his fault in an instant. 

_“I don’t like this.”_

_It’s my punishment. Promise you won’t interrupt._

The voice made no reply.

_Promise me. Now._

_“I promise, but if he tries to kill—_

_He won’t._

_“There are easier ways to hurt.”_

_I know._

The soldiers directed him to the throne room. The large doorways, freezing to the touch with blackwood and white gold shifting into wisp-like forms of dragons, opened loudly and slowly. He could see Tarsian, wearing his robes and hat as if it wasn’t in the middle of the night with the candles lit low or as if it wasn’t going to be only the two of them. Lightning struck outside the manor, briefly illuminating Tarsian’s face. The ridges of his cheeks stood out and light wrinkles from furrowed brows. His eyes were just as steely and cold as the floor against his feet.

The soldiers pulled him to the center of the room where everything was gray and black granite.  There were no paintings on the walls and the windows loomed over him like watchful eyes. There were no colors, no iron, not even decorative stone, it was merely dead like a mausoleum. They dropped the chains to the ground and the full weight of them pulled at his wrists. He carefully dropped to his knees.

The throne, as well, was not what he imagined it--an imposing seat of gold and fire. Dragon-like snakes slithered up the sides, twisting through the rather geometric shaped backing of it with a thick metal sheet jutting out from underneath to sit. It looked painful and uncomfortable. The Archon waved his hands and the soldiers bowed before leaving them alone. The door slamming shut behind them.

“Do you remember what I told you when we first met? About your betters.”

Evune lowered his eyes to the floor. Archon Vesces slammed his fist on the throne and it boomed at just the same time as lightning struck something heavy nearby. The sounds of static murmured in the air.

Evune jumped. “Yes.”

“Come here.”

Evune heaved himself upright. His footsteps careful as he kept his gaze on the ground. The chains scraped against the granite. When he finally reached the throne, he raised his eyes. Archon Vesce’s eyes were even colder close-up. His purple irises dead as he held Evune's chin in one hand.

“Pull down my pants.”

Evune bit his lip. “I—

“I don’t care to hear your excuses.” The Archon tightened his hold against his chin before yanking his hand off. He opened his legs and laid his chin on his hand, his eyes baring down on Evune. Evune crawled up the small platform stairs and then lifted up his fingers to pulled down his pants.

 “Suck, now.”

Evune reined in his tears, feeling as they stuck to his eyes like glaze. He opened his mouth as it pressed inside.

“I would suggest making it as wet as possible.”

He widened his mouth and pushed his tongue, lifting around the limp organ.

“There is only one reason I have you.” Archon Vesces placed both hands on his head, gripping his hair, and began thrusting into his mouth. He shoved in once, hitting the back of his throat, listening to Evune choke. He held himself still, moving his hand to feel his throat for his cock.  The Archon groaned as he pulled back, rocking his hips, before slamming back in. His thickness filling up with blood. He pulled out his cock and slapped the elf’s tongue with it, holding his mouth open.

“Suck _harder_.”

Evune loosened his throat as the Archon pushed in again, sucking in his whole hard cock. The Archon started thrusting, speeding up ever few thrusts. He leaned back, pulling Evune’s mouth along with, and he kept thrusting over and over again, tightening his hold on Evune’s head as he rammed in. He lifted his leg and pressed Evune even closer while Evune swallowed after each thrust trying to keep up with the hardness filling his throat. Tarsian’s thrusts only strengthened, getting angrier the deeper he reached. Evune could feel drool fall from his lips in the pistoning, the never-ending thrusts pushing in and out.  Archon Vesces gave him a moment’s pause—to breath, and then started again, rocking his cock into his throat, thrusting in and out until his cock felt drenched in spit.

The Archon moved his hands and placed it on the throne arms—dragging his cock out from his mouth by the inches—and dropping his leg back to the ground with a slam. The echo filled the room. Evune coughed, spitting out some of the pre-cum. He hesitantly raised his eyes to the Archon’s gaze.

“Now, turn around.”

Evune shakily stood up and turned around.

“Drop your pants.”

Evune pulled his leggings off.

“Now, lower yourself on my cock and make me come.”

Evune heard the Archon widen his legs. He moved backwards, feeling the weight of the chains still pulling him down. He lowered his ass and felt the Archon open his hole before he yanked him down.

Evune held in his cries as it filled him in an instant. Archon Vesces pulled the chains on either side of the throne holding it in his hands loosely. Evune could do nothing but keep his arms up on the edge of the throne hands in a stasis. The only movement he could do involved his lower body. He rotated his ass around the thickness, feeling each inch of his cock as his ass dragged lower and lower.

He couldn’t breathe.

He lifted himself up and then slammed down. He cried out while rocking forward listening to the Archon hiss behind him. The chains at his arms yanked and he lifted himself up again but the weight of the chains pulled him down again. He wasn’t sure for how long he was made to lift his ass up and slam down before he was able to speed up.

“Faster. Harder.”

He twisted his hips and jerked up before slamming down. He repeated it, rocking forward to keep his hole wet as he thrust himself up and down on the Archon’s thickness. He bounced on his cock feeling it finally fill up and thicken like a plug. The chains yanked again and he slammed down, crying out, the tears falling down his cheeks as he came over and over again feeling the quick wetness slip between his legs.

Tarsian pressed a heated hand against his chest and he bit his lip, holding in his screams, as a mark seared across his chest. Evune didn’t have to look down to see what it was.

He had been given the Vesces slave mark.

The chains unlocked from his arms and fell to the ground with a clatter. The Archon grabbed the tossed leggings and dried lower body before dropping it back on the ground. He left the throne room with a sharp slam.

Evune wiped his tears with the back of his palm and limped to Sareethi’s room. He couldn't tell if it was a longer trip than usual as his mind sat blank of everything. Empty.

He knocked on her door, “Sareethi.”

The door swung open and her eyes went from relief to worry.

The tears suddenly filled up but he pushed away any sign of it in his voice. He cleared his throat. “Can I bathe in here? Sleep?”

Sareethi outstretched her hand and pulled him in.

 

* * *

 

 

Sareethi’s tub was the size of what he remembered of his old tub.  It had more gold and was cleaner, of course, but the soft rounded edges he used to slip over of as a child were very close to these. His hand rose to the burning mark on his chest with his fingers hovering over it not actually touching it. The water splashed around him in the movement.

 _“It was my mistake."_ The voice said,  _" I blocked your location. He must've known and created a locator rune. I should've told you."_

Evune sunk back into the warmth of the water. He exhaled,  _Why? So you can do it in his stead, demon. Replace one leash with another._

 _“No, so that you can have your freedom.”_ The voice paused.  _"I will make it so that he can't control you with it. This will be my apology."_

Evune scoffed.  The voice eased out as if to trail out their distance and allow him space to think. The mark cooled on his chest and the pulling agony of the wound lessened. Just as he was starting to believe that it may not be evil. He wondered if spirits were only good demons. Was there a way to tell when a spirit became one then?

An inkling of guilt squiggled in the outer reaches of his mind. He hadn't known that Tarsian was controlling. Evune hadn't even known.  

 He washed his skin, scrubbing it over and over as if he could wash off Tarsian’s cruel fingers and words. His mother would be disappointed in him for losing sight of himself, being tied down. He slapped a hand against the edges of the tub, clenching and unclenching his hand until he could feel his palms stinging. His father would scold him for forgetting his training. He could’ve fought back. He could’ve run away. He should’ve stopped him. Yet, he blamed himself for getting caught. 

It was on him.

He pulled out from the water, letting the rush of cold air fall over him before slipping on the large robe Sareethi let him borrow.

 

Sareethi didn’t ask what happened. He woke up the next morning in her bed noting that she had slept in her son’s cramped bed, cradling him in her arms. He lowered his hand to his own stomach and felt nausea wind up to twist in his throat. He ran to the bathroom, retching in the toilet. When he left, Sareethi had brought breakfast and they sat together, lazily eating breakfast in the bed, while Kaaras was still sleeping in his bed.

He didn't want to leave the room and see Tarsian. He couldn't choose between feeling angry or ashamed. The robes were a good shield against any of the servants who came in with questioning, worried gazes.

“You were right.” He admitted, dipping a spoon in a bowl of broth. "He's not on our side. Not entirely."

Sareethi sighed. "You  _knew_ that before you went in. Why?"

Evune went silent and merely took another sip of the broth.

Sareethi shook her head and buttered a slice of bread for Kaaras, when he blearily hopped on the bed beside them, and then for herself. “The Black Divine wanted to send for an execution for treason on Marcella—Elvia supported it. But, the Archon wishes to question her and find out why she decided to betray her country.”

“Elvia said she was betrayed.” Evune answered, grateful the subject was changed. Finally.

“People will say what needs to be said to live.” Sareethi finished. “I find it more likely that the Tevinter King made a bargain. You for Marcella. A trade to instill fear in you while he received information.”

Evune nodded but something wriggled in the back of his mind. He was missing something. “What did you find in Roka’s things?”

A sharp knock struck the door. The two of them shared quizzical looks.

“Who is it?” Sareethi asked.

“An ‘Arnarel’ has requested to meet you both in the courtyard.”

Sareethi answered, “Thank you. And Evunial is going to need clothes from his room.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

They waited until the servant’s footsteps disappeared before speaking again. Sareethi turned to Evune. “Nothing except a pile of armor plates or scales.”

Evune shook his head. “I don’t know why I bothered. With Arnarel here, we might be able to find out a little more.”

The servant dropped off the clothes and Evune crept into the bathroom to change.

"You forgot your--" Sareethi stilled as she saw Evune's collar open and the slave mark underneath. Her nose flared and she twisted around, charging out the door. Evune barrelled out the bathroom to the bedroom door, blocking her from leaving. Sareethi hissed. "I'm going to murder him."

"You can't."

Sareethi corrected him. "I can. I might go to jail. I might be put down like an animal but there will be less Tevinters. I can promise you."

"Can I help?" Kaaras piped up. Sareethi and Evune turned to Kaaras who innocently stared at the two of them. "What are we doing again?"

"Nothing." Evune said sternly.

Sareethi huffed, her shoulders tense, shaking her wrists as if to loosen the tightness in her fists. "He's going to pay for this."

"He had to do it." Evune tried to convince her with a weak smile. "The dwarven ambassadors needed someone to punish. It had to be me."

Sareethi unfurled her teeth before turning to Kaaras. "We're going to go training in the courtyard."

Kaaras jumped up excitedly and pumped a fist in the air before running out the door. The door fell against Sareethi's open palm and she raised her eyes to Evune's. "He can't stay."

Evune twisted his hand to his side and then fixed the robe so that his collar was covered again. He walked underneath her arm and said, "But not today."

 

 

 

The gardens were presumably filled with bright and beautiful flowers during the warmer seasons but after the storm of the previous night, plants had been pulled out and strewn bout. Bushes sat bare with their spindly branches sticking out and the sky stayed a murky cloudy color all throughout the day.

Arnarel stood by the benches, pacing back and forth. When he saw them, he rushed forward. “Deshanna has disappeared. Nanterius—

“I know,” Evune started, “I received—

Arnarel hissed, “You knew, and you didn’t say anything?”

“I’m sorry, I—” Evune snapped his mouth shut and closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness struck. He wobbled in place before Sareethi threw out her hands to keep him straight. He covered his mouth and turned to the nearest flower pot and vomited.

Arnarel pointed at Evune almost accusatorily, “Is he alright? Deshanna is out there! Alone and he’s here—”

“We don’t know yet.”

Evune continued to clutch the flower pot as another wave struck. He was an idiot. Tarsian was right. He should’ve known his place and now Deshanna.

_“It is not your fault. None of it. The enchantress knows the Fade well.”_

He blocked out the whispering voice when Sareethi spoke, “We received a letter while in the Ambassadoria. Wherever Elvia has taken the elves to be experimented on, this is where we expect Deshanna is.”

“Is that to be comforting?” Arnarel retorted.

“No, it’s meant to be the truth.”

Evune wiped his mouth as his dizziness lessened. “Get Davan.”

“He’s the Knight-Commander now,” Arnarel added, “He can’t just—

Evune clutched the pot tighter and then spit some residual leftovers. He continued, wearily, “We _need_ him right now. I can’t—”

Arnarel swiftly nodded and left, while Sareethi said, “I’ll get you a damp cloth.”

Evune climbed up on one of the benches and laid on his side. It wasn’t until he lowered his hand he noticed. His stomach was sticking out. He gently flitted his fingers along his stomach before flattening his whole hand against it to feel the jutting bulge.

He felt exhaustion seeping in his bones. He always wanted a family. His healer told him it would be unlikely and near impossible because of his disposition. But to have one like his mother and father had created, but how could they in Tevinter? How could they survive in this world? Through suffering. Through degradation. He felt his hatred shrivel up. He gritted his teeth and slammed his fists against the bench. He curled in on himself and fell unconscious listening to the soothing sounds of the spirit in his ear. He did not know what they meant but knew the spirit was a part of it.

His eyes fluttered opened. He hadn’t even known he had fallen asleep but with the pleasant comfort of his bed and a warm cover, he could pretend all was right with the world.

Davan pushed away from the chair he had been sitting in beside his bed. He crouched by the bed. “I heard about Deshanna. Tell me, what can I do?”

“Sit here with me for a moment longer.” Evune said with a bit of humor. “Although, it can’t be nearly as fun by my side as it must be to be you, Knight-Commander.”

"I would rather you didn’t say that. " Davan sighed. His fingers found their way around Evune's. “I would’ve told you.”

“It’s fine.” Evune replied. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “We all keep secrets.” They both fell silent. The thought of keeping secrets from Davan weighed heavy in his chest. It sounded _wrong._  Evune curled on his side and faced Davan. “I’m going to need your help from now on. Your trust. Your status. Your allies. Do I have it?”

“You’ve trusted me against all reason.” Davan answered and slid up onto the bed. “I want to earn it when given the opportunity. I know--I know we're not a good lot but we can be.”

“It may be because I lack all reason. But, we think similarly. I think what we have is a sort of trust, yes?” Evune threaded a hand in Davan’s hair before pulling Davan’s hands around his waist. First from his back until it wrapped around and cupped under his belly. Not a large bump but more a bump than pudge.

Davan reared back with his hands still cupping his stomach. “You’re—

Evune lowered his voice, “Elvia can’t know.”

“She won’t.” He said insistently. “I—You’ll be safe. We’ll—I will keep you safe. We’ll find a way. . . Congratulations.”

Evune wrapped his arms around Davan’s neck and held on tight as Davan clutched him by the hips. “Once they’re born, I’ll be bound to here, to Tarsian, to Tevinter. This isn’t a place for a child much less elven ones.” Evune said, his voice muffled in Davan’s shoulders. “I want to make it a place that will be. . . no matter what happens.”

“You know you won't be alone. Never alone.” 

Evune pressed a hand against his chest and then nodded. Davan tightened his hold and Evune winced. Davan tossed a questioning glance before lifting his robe. Evune pressed his hand down.

"I'm fine." Evune breathed out. His voice must have shaken or it may have even been the brief second his eyes watered.

Davan slid him into his lap and pressed gentle hands along his leg, his hips, his arms watching every time Evune winced. He wrapped his arm carefully around Evune. Davan exhaled sharply. "You let him punish you even with--

"He doesn't know."

"He should still care if he even pretends to--" Davan stopped himself. He apologized. "My brother is not a good man. I'm not sure if this is how he shows he cares but this is wrong."

"If I wasn't punished, the dwarves would've never allowed the accords to finish." Evune cut in watching Davan's seething expression tighten.  “I’ll message my contacts in Ambassadoria to feel around for how bad I messed things up.  I’ll send a brief message to Nanterius but I know we’re not there yet. We need more support. It had to be done.”

“I will reach out to neutral clans and see if there is someone I can find.” Davan replied. “My brother cannot continue. Elvia cannot continue. There must be someone who dislikes them both nearly as much as they dislike each other."

It reminded him of the interrogation request Tarsian put out for Marcella. Did he really want her dead? Or was this a ploy to get Elvia? If so, why?  “Does something about Marcella’s betrayal stand out to you?”

“Yes,” Davan agreed, “She had great pride in her heritage. She wouldn’t have betrayed us to the Qunari, no less.”

“Tarsian believes Elvia wants Marcella executed. We need to find out if it’s true and why.”

“Oran’s people can look into it.”

Evune nodded. “I’ll send you a missive when I’ve gotten in contact with those in Ambassadoria.”

Davan gently pulled his hands away and kissed his cheek. “Take care. I’m talking to the servants today about getting your bruises healed. We’re going to have meals together. Every week. Be prepared.”

Evune ignored the light flutter in his chest at getting to see Davan so often. He rolled his eyes. “As long as I don’t have to eat fish and gruel, I’m fine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Evune spoke with his servants during his bathing hours and sent the promised missives. Many of them had family members who were Liberati or enslaved. It seemed to be a never-ending circle for them. Oran had been gathering more information and even some of the Carta was willingly working with them. Apparently, the magisters were swindling them out of proper gold for the hazardous nature of lyrium mining.

Tarsian wasn’t speaking to him although he summoned him every other day to use his mouth to pleasure him. After he would release, Evune would be sent off. 

The long days and hours as he spoke to the Liberati he was given no new information. It wasn’t until a week later, with the Proving nearly at his doorstep, that he was given anything valuable—a hint of Deshanna’s location. Arnarel was getting antsy but his brand made it hard to hide from Tarsian. He was resigned to only knowing limited knowledge of the situation.

Because of his forced lockdown, Evune had told Sareethi to train and keep communication with situations in Vyrantium. She updated him on any of the changes. Sid, apparently, got in contact with the little girl of the Liberati.

Sareethi had to take Kaaras to the Argent Spire for Templar training. She had been disquieted. It was another reason why Evune told her that just because he was on lockdown it didn’t mean that she was.

Most days, he spent braiding his hair, and unlike before, used his hours well by free-braiding, letting them swing loose as they winded down to his mid-back. His hair was growing long now. And so was his stomach. Perhaps it had only been by less than half an inch but he was glad the Archon didn’t wish to see him. He would have too much to explain.

“ _You are well.”_ That familiar voice said.

Evune stopped his writing. _“Stop. I’m almost sure of it that you’re not real. I must’ve made you up as a sort of comfort but I don’t need it. I don’t need excuses.”_ He dabbed his quill in the ink bottle and continued writing down notes again.

The voice held humor in his tone and chuckled, _“If I am not real, then I could not have learned this new language or learned of your childish fear of flutterbugs.”_

_Flutterbugs are disgusting. Enough said._

Evune sighed and continued writing.

“Sir,” Leilani said with a bow, “The Archon wishes to see you.”

Evune asked, “Did you get the missive reply?”

“Yes, it sits in your desk drawer, sir.” She gestured to the left side of the desk.

“Don’t call me sir in private, Leilani.”

Leilani’s lips twitched. “Of course.” 

"And, one more question."

Leilani turned around. Her hands were already on the door. "Anything."

"Where is your friend? From my first few days."

Leilani shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, I--

"Evune, please, Leilani." He raised his hand, curious about her reaction. She had never acted like this in front of him. Tarsian, of course, but never him.

"You have to understand," Leilani continued, shifting uncomfortably still, "You and the Archon are not married. We are aware of the harshness of this life, but some of us pass judgment wrongfully."

"What does marriage--?"

Leilani sighed. "In Tevinter, marriage is the utmost important. There is nothing more sacred but anything outside, anything considered  _strange_ is seen as unacceptable. The others see your relationship with the Archon as--" She pursed her lips, refusing to finish the sentence.

"Wrong." Evune finished. "Even though he doesn't care for Elvia. Barely cares for me even."

She nodded and then bowed lowly. "I'm sorry."

"You can leave, Leilani. And, thank you." She left without another word. The door closing quietly.

Evune draped a robe on, more a thickly sewn sheet than anything, and walked to his closet where Leilani dropped off his received missives. He had wondered why Tarsian was so careful about his appearances and where he went. He was the personification of a shameful act and no one deigned to tell him. Such a fact shouldn't have struck him as hard as it did like a layer of skin peeled off. He was suddenly so very bare to the idea that people didn't see him as anything more than this _other._  He shoved the feeling down that had become so much heavier than before. It was like he was carrying the shame that others held for him as well, all of a sudden.

Confirmations of receiving his missives, coordinates and location of magisters, and a list of those interested in their goals. He took the missives to his candlelight and burned them to ash. Twisting around the desk, his foot jerked back. Evune wobbled and pressed a hand against his forehead before sliding to his knees, catching himself with his hands. 

It was dark before he could comprehend. When his eyes opened, he was back in the garden with the Spirit playing the instrument his younger self had been playing before.

"You passed out."

"Did I? You must be a spirit of wisdom, no doubt."

The Spirit huffed. "Your sarcasm is not appreciated."

"It would be appreciated elsewhere."

"Well, that elsewhere isn't here."

Evune deflated and slumped against the nearest bench. The sun stood above him and he couldn't feel the heat. Insects were twittering in a pattern. This place was so blissfully fake it was almost nice. "I don't want to wake up."

"You are afraid." The Spirit said.

Evune said easily. "Deathly. I have felt a certain way. Tarsian treated such a way. And now, now I _know_ that others, strangers even, see me as this way. It pains." The words pull out from his chest like plucking the strings of an instrument.

"Then you must learn to protect yourself."

Evune crossed his arms, watching the Spirit whistle through his instrument as a fluting, dance tune played. "I know how to fight."

"You have the skills to fight but you lack the ire." The Spirit paused his music to speak. "There is an old style called, 'Magnus Capra'." The Spirit motioned with a tightened hand, sliding his feet up in the air with a wide-sweeping motion. He tossed the instrument in the air and it disappeared into the sky.  "The basic movements are better for those with a lower center of gravity."

"Pregnant, you mean." Evune groaned. He had been dancing around the subject in his head taking joy in it one moment and then hating it the next. It had smacked him back in the face now. No running away from it today.

The Spirit added, "Women as well. It also provides clarity of mind. Come here." He wasn't sure how long inside of his head that the Spirit took the time to straighten his shoulders, his legs, his ankles as he learned to stand, to punch in the right position. Evune felt as if he was actually sweating.

"I believe we are done for today." The Spirit nodded as if his jarring gestures were acceptable. "You will have to wake up."

"Do I?"

The spirit chuckled, a thrilling deep sound, that brought a smile to Evune's face. "Do you wish to dance instead?"

_Please._

The spirit outstretched his hand and they danced, his head on his shoulder as a familiar melody played and a voice reminiscent to his mother's sang.

Evune tilted his head up, blinking back the dryness from his eyes. He was laying on his side on the carpet. He pushed up from the plush fibers, straightening his clothing.

 It was time for him to meet Tarsian.

 

He pushed open the wide throne room doors, and in the silence of the room sat at the center with his knees folded underneath. He knew it would be hard to gain his favor but he wore the lightest jewels Tarsian had given him—small pearls and jade. He had worn them all the other times before and it seemed to do more or less nothing for him, but his survival, his children’s survival, relied on him playing his part. White crystals trailed from his eyes down to his hips. He hoped it would distract from his burgeoning stomach.

The doors behind him creaked open and the soft footsteps, wide sweeping of cloth on floor sounded.

“You’ve been sick lately.” Tarsian spoke beside him. He walked around and sat in front of Evune, scrutinizing. "Tired as well. Leilani tells me you took a random nap today."

Evune breathed out. “It’s only the common flu. It will pass.”

He lifted his hand and tipped his chin up. Evune closed his eyes. “You won’t look at me the same, will you? You knew who I was and my responsibilities. You knew.”

“I did. Perhaps I believed that you wouldn’t lump me with all your other slaves,” Evune said, his voice cool, “I was wrong.”

“You know my anger. The Ambassadoria delegates were furious.” He pulled off Evune’s robe and pulled out oil from his pocket. He soaked his hand in it and began rubbing it from Evune’s neck to his nipples to his stomach, to his hips. He walked around, pressing his chest to Evune’s back and splayed his hand across his lower body, cupping his stomach. He smeared gently, carefully, tenderly as if he thought Evune would break. “They’ve been expecting more from me and I hadn't been able to deliver.”

 _“He knows.”_ The voice whispered.

Evune gritted his teeth. “You know.”

The hands continued to rub oil into his back and between the creases of his ass. “The one thing that Elvia has combated against me for and to think you would be the solution. I can finally protect you. Get rid of your secrets. Share them with me and the Magisterium will—

“She will make sure we _all_ die if she finds out.”

He pressed forward swirling his fingers around Evune’s nipples, which had started to become sensitive. Evune could feel arousal tickling his body.

“You will be my Consort when the baby is born.”

Evune closed his eyes. “Elvia _hates_ me but Tevinter alone would never allow—

“An elf?” Tarsian turned Evune around and began pressing into his shoulder, massaging the oil in deep. “There has never been an elven Archon either. We can change that. Together.”

Evune gasped as Tarsian twisted in two fingers, thrusting in and out. His thumb providing a fulcrum as he pressed deeper and deeper inside.  “You are a treasure; you know that?”

Evune felt water pool in his eyes again.  His words were once balm to his hurt. Where he once felt healed, he now felt scars and scabs. The rickety chains of metal rusting in its use and he was the ring that was stretched and stretched until it snapped. “We have many months to survive through and I still have the Proving.”

“In the Proving, the contestants may have a representative fight on their behalf. Since you’ve been ill, we will tell them that is the reason. But, your fighter must win a least three matches. They must be good.”

Evune breathed out a sigh of relief.  “I have a few ideas. This can work.”

Tarsian twisted his fingers again and Evune felt comfortably loose and warm. He pulled Evune up and dropped his pants. He wrapped his arms around Evune and lifted him by the ass. “Put your arms around me.”

Evune hesitated but drew up his hands. Tarsian lowered Evune on his cock with an immeasurable slowness. Evune could feel it twitch and thicken as it pushed through, expanding and spreading his ass. Tarsian gripped his cheeks, kneading them, and began thrusting up. The first thrust causing stars and Evune cried out. He pulled out and Evune whimpered at the emptiness, he felt too loose and open. Tarsian pressed his lips along Evune’s neck as he lowered Evune, filling him up thickly.  The second thrust turned to three, four, and five—all slow and well-timed smacks his ass bounced against.

Evune clutched his legs around tighter, adding more heat, more sweat.  He wouldn’t last long. Tarsian lowered himself to the floor, keeping his cock stuck. Evune rolled his hips and groaned against Tarsian’s neck. Tarsian pressed a kiss to his mouth. He pressed into the kiss as if they could sink into each other if only for a moment. He rocked up, thrusting in and out, taking his slow time as his lapped at Evune’s neck and collarbone. His thumbs pressed up against his nipples, rubbing and rubbing until Evune felt them redden.

“Our children will be beautiful, you know.” He whispered in Evune’s ear. “Completely, utterly beautiful.”

“So you say.” As those words whispered in his ear, it was not beyond his comprehension that it was the same words he always spoke. There was no plan to better their child’s life. No, it was simply a pawn in the larger game.

“So I know.” He lowered Evune to the cold granite, his back flat against it, still using his cock like a plug to keep Evune full. He pressed his forehead against his shoulder and began thrusting in earnest. Sharp, punching thrusts that pushed in and out without stop. Thrusts that overwhelmed Evune into tears, not in pain, but of feeling too much all at once. Their skin smacking and sliding echoed in the otherwise silent throne room. Evune let him thrust until he couldn’t think anymore until the heat overtook his every senses and when he released—it was like a tidal wave pressing down until it all drained out.

_“You know. . .not to trust him.”_

Evune only sighed as he pulled Tarsian’s arms around him.

 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Like two sex scenes. 
> 
> Yeah, this whole chapter is basically one but actual important stuff happens. You find out the "Spirit's" name.

_22 ndday of Parvulis_

The Liberati found Deshanna.

Davan and him checked through old land deeds that had been owned or was currently owned by the Valens. None of the houses or land seemed to be helpful until they found an old butcher’s shed they owned in the Ambassadoria centuries ago.

It seemed like another willing sacrifice by Elvia. She was telling us she knows what we want and she has the power to tip things in her favor. She was planning something big.

Davan had a few of his soldiers, trusted footmen, to dress down and cut off the perimeter of their meeting place. They sat at the stone benches surrounding the space like an octagonal-type shape.

The Three Imperators’ Square was a market in the central city of Minrathous. All classes of Tevinter congregated here to buy gifts for family and friends, eat midday meals, and even take a viewing of the statues of the Imperators three of the, supposedly, greatest commanders in ancient Tevinter history. Imperator Tidarion, his statue standing in the middle, eventually became the first Archon not from a noble class. Two thousand years later, civil war hadn't struck out since.

He would make a vow to change that.

Evune swept around the fountain wearing a thin hooded cloak greeting the faces of the members of the Hole that had been able to come to. Oran had come in place of his “Boss”—perhaps saving him had endeared him to Evune’s cause. Deshanna, with a few cuts and bruises still, joined the group as well. The first thing he did was hug her tightly. He had very few friends now. And even fewer he could trust well enough.

“Roka?” Evune broke away from Deshanna. The dwarf, far cleaner and mentally aware, stood behind her.

A heavy bang struck the stone tiled pavement. Sareethi had lugged the bag of armor plates and scales with her to the market with them. Roka nearly tripped over himself to reach the bag, snatching out the scales and . . . sniffing them.

Keela, in a perpetual state of irritation, scrunched up her nose as Gheeran, too distracted by the statues, faced the opposite direction. In fact, those two, shifting from foot to foot, avoided everyone’s gaze.

Evune tugged on Davan’s armor. “You forced them to meet us, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Evune pressed a hand against his temple. Roka opened the bag entirely and trudged it to sit right in front of Evune.

“Give me your hand, you painted elf.” Roka pulled out a dagger and nicked Evune’s hand.

Davan yanked out his sword and swung it outward, holding it still against Roka’s throat. “I suggest you explain, now.”

“It’s fine.” Evune said. He watched as Roka squeezed from the wound drops of blood over the plates. The dwarf stuffed them back in the bag and handed them back to Sareethi.

 “Keep the bag beside your bed for the next few days.” Roka said. He pulled out leather goggles and snapped it on his face, tightening the thickly woven gloves on his hands. “It’s been bound to you and only you.”

Evune raised his hand, “Wait, I don’t think—

“Don’t try to.” Roka glanced at the others. “In fact, you’d be best thinking as if you all got one complete mind. Not sure your mind in pieces are all that clever.”

Gheeran scowled.

Keela burst out, “I don’t even know why I’m here. All we have to do is finish the trials.”

“You’re here, Keela,” Evune started, his eyes flew over their group one-by-one, “Because there have been six Hole competitions. Every single member, every single one of them have died. None of us even know the reward for winning the Hole because no one ever has.”

Keela shook her head. “You must be wrong.”

“Nope.” Gheeran said with a pop. “Less than half have ever survived the first trial. Only three have survived to the third. None have ever finished the competition, though. I thought it was just bad luck.”

Keela seethed. “And you read this in a book.”

“Well,” Gheeran replied, “It is public knowledge. I thought it was strange that Tevinters never tried out for it. So, it also makes sense. The only thing that doesn’t is why you’re so resistant to logic. It’s pretty silly, actually.”

“What makes sense is that _he_ is trying to trick us.” Keela hissed, she turned a glare on Evune. “Like he did Yasu. He’s cutting out the competition and that’s why the Consort wants him dead.”

Evune pursed his lips. But Deshanna cut in, “Yasu left because he didn’t belong with us. He was a Qunari and he never hated that. He hated that they made him a soldier when he didn’t want to be.”

“You took away his free will!” Keela shot back. “How can you save us when you can’t save Yasu or Marcella?”

Gheeran raised her chin and stood in front of Evune. “Marcella made her bed. He tried to help even when she didn’t ask for it. And you knew Yasu better than anyone, between his two choices, what would’ve been better for him? Do you even know?”

Keela gritted her teeth and then crossed her arms. She said nothing else. Gheeran moved away and motioned Evune to speak.

“Unlike most of you, I don’t have family or children. I don’t even have a concrete goal.” Evune’s gaze fell on Keela and Gheeran. “I want things to be better for people like us—slaves, the impoverished, and elves. I want us to feel safe because our homes are lost. This is our try at making a new start.”

Keela clenched her hands tight against her arms and glared at the stone tiles.

Evune continued, “In some way, I’m being entirely selfish. Helping you all helps me. Helping Liberati helps me. Helping Nanterius and Deshanna, it helps me. And if Elvia wins, we all lose. We will lose our lives and those we care about will die.”

“Fine,” Keela admitted, “What do we do? We need plans not promises.”

“We have to win the Proving but releasing Deshanna and,” Evune turned to Oran who had been silently skulking in the corner watching their movements, “even the ‘Boss’ means she has something planned for it—something big.”

“What does it mean?” Oran asked.

“It means we need to cover a wider range. We’ll need to be more efficient and cover more ground.” Evune said hesitantly. He turned to Deshanna. “You’re going to return to Vyrantium.”

“And do what?” Deshanna huffed. “I want some vengeance, some payback. You can’t kick me out.”

“Listen, the best thing you can do for us right now is be our eyes and ears on the outside. We need to know what the small and neutral magisters are doing. We need to know their sentiment.”

Davan added with a careful shared look at Evune, “We’ll need you to re-create your clan.”

“What?” Deshanna retorted. She shook her head, almost desperate. “No. My clan. . .it’s dead. We had no keeper and—

“You and Arnarel are survivors. The best cover is a transparent one.” Evune finished.

“And Arnarel?” Deshanna said firmly. “I won’t abandon him.”

“Arnarel is going to be a little harder to free but we will do it. Trust us.”

Deshanna rubbed her nose. “I don’t like this. I want to be in the heat of the fight. If this is because of the map, I—

Evune placed a hand on her shoulder. He said, “I understand why you didn’t give it to Nanterius. We don’t blame you.”

Evune lowered his voice, “But send me any notes you made on the map.”

Deshanna nodded.

Evune continued much louder, “Gheeran and Keela, keep doing what you’re doing. If you need more training, Sareethi is open to whipping some more people into shape.”

Oran remarked, “Clearly, it didn’t work out so well for you.”

Evune ignored him. “And in relation to the Proving, I won’t be participating.” He hadn’t told anyone yet, including Davan, his plans in regards to this. Some of his trust in the Knight-Commander had weakened. He didn’t know how Tarsian had found out. He had more belief in the fact that his weight gain or a conversation had been overheard than Davan had told his brother but the doubt still existed.

“You already lost one trial.” Keela said bluntly. “It’s suicide.”

Gheeran nodded in agreement. Davan stayed silent while Deshanna threw a speculative glance.

“I’ve been fairly ill lately.” Evune started to say, “I’m getting a representative to fight for me, specifically, but if any of you lose, the Hole too.”

“Figures,” Oran sniffed, “You talk a big game but when it comes down to it you don’t like getting your hands dirty.”

“Idiot,” Gheeran tossed out, “This elf fought a water snake and killed it all on its own. You’d have cried back to your mamae in a second.”

“A water snake, yeah right.” Oran muttered to himself. “Bullshitters.”

Their meeting didn’t last very long after that. Keela left almost immediately. Roka had disappeared without their notice.

“I don’t trust those members of the Hole, especially that Keela.” Oran pulled him aside. “We could cut our losses here and run. I don’t know why the ‘Boss’ thinks working with you is a good idea but know that I don’t trust your motives.”

Evune cocked his head. “My motives aren’t complicated.”

“Yeah, and that’s the reason why I don’t believe all this.” Oran brushed a hand on his neck. “Keep us updated the next time something screws up.”

“One more thing.”

Oran heaved a sigh. He tucked his fingers through his pants sides. “Of course.”

“The Tranquil that saved me—Jed. We'll need him.”

“Asking the nug to fetch, are you?” Oran sniffed. “It’s not like I have a settlement to protect or anything. I’ll get on it now.” As soon as Oran turned away, he stuck out his tongue.

_Asshole._

“Oh, and one more thing.” Oran added, nearly catching Evune reel in his tongue. “Cute braids.”

Evune tugged on his tips as soon as the human turned. He'd stopped wearing it out in a rebellious gesture against Tarsian. It added some emote of control over his body that he lost since reaching Ath Velanis. The wind whipped up and his eyes watered. He covered his eyes and turned away from it to see Deshanna staring up at the statues.

"These are the ones." Deshanna said incredulously. "And that mustache. Why is his hat so big? And this guy has a stupid jaw."

"Are you--

"No," Deshanna answered. She flourished her hand up at the three statues. "These men killed our people--for what? Land. Gold. Magic?! They slaughtered our ancestors and here they are smiling. They're fucking smiling!"

"I know."

“I also know.” Deshanna added, her voice mellowing out. “There’s already a ship at the port waiting for me.”

"You failed no one."

Deshanna grunted. "No, I failed you."

"Deshanna--

She leaned forward and swiveled her hands in a circle until ice clouds fell from her fingers. Pressing forward, she shoved the nearest statue, freezing it instantly and before anyone could reach out, it shattered to the ground. "Put it on my tab." She said, before flicking her hands until it turned normal and pushed through the guards to port.

Out from behind the fountain, Davan was livid. He nearly knocked shoulders into Gheeran, running Evune over to catch Deshanna when he snatched at his wrist. "Davan, let her go."

"But she--

"We don't know what they did to her." Evune consoled, wrapping his other hand around his wrist. "Let her be." When Deshanna left, iIt distinctly felt like things had to break to be fixed again.  "And I can't honestly say I wouldn't have done the same." He loosened his grip on Davan's wrist and the other man heaved a sigh before whistling towards one of his men to clean it up. The Knight-Commander shouted at another to find another sculptor who could replace this statue when the statue whizzed back into its former place.

"Not bad, is it?" Gheeran popped up behind him. She waved her hand in the statue and it shivered in and out. "It's an illusion but it'll work until the Knight-Commander replaces it."

"I didn't know that kind of magic existed."

Gheeran hummed. "No one knows about the exciting magic. It's all boom and doom. Boring!"

"You're tampering with the Fade," Evune argued, "It should be boom and doom."

Gheeran pointed out the bridge and the obsidian metal architecture before them, "The Fade is a balance. A balance, like a bridge, where the sides are always full but never in the middle. But the Fade falls out of balance. Mages going out of control is a symptom, not a disease." Her light voice was tense. "Back home, it was always a disease. Except demons were the disease and having magic at all was a symptom."

"I thought few mages fall to demons." Evune had heard the rumors and gossip from merchant's. Carin loved to point out the inconsistencies among their conversations. When they were younger, the conversations used to make her afraid. He'd spent hours consoling her on those days.

"Not in other parts of Thedas."

He sighed, knowing that he had turned the conversation dark. Thinking of Carin should've been the first hint. "I imagine the mages are treating you right." 

"Not really, but I did learn something from them." She pointed to the shop, through the barricading arms of a Templar. An elderly man was speaking to a shop owner. "See that man over there. He's stolen from every merchant shop on that corner. 

"He doesn't look like a thief, much less someone who hasn't gotten caught," Evune added, "ever."

Gheeran nodded. 

"Because of pity then?"

When the shop owner returned, a bag sat at the old man's feet. The shop owner rubbed his head before helping the old man leave with his bag of stolen goods. Gheeran continued, her voice distant, "Because his mother owned that shop before the war--the most recent Qunari one."

"You can see that."

"It's not as powerful as it seems. And it's usually random nonsense, but," Gheeran grinned and watched the old man hobble away. "Sometimes. I've only seen it here in Tevinter, actually. Heard about it in theories and speculation, so when I asked the mages about it, well, they're so used to it by now that they don't even notice it."

Evune huffed."Most people would love to watch their history reenacted."

"They're not like us here. They choose the deadmen's words over the truth and history is an opinion." Gheeran paused briefly, the bitter tone struck out clear to Evune, "I should write a book on it. Smuggle it into Ferelden or Orlais. Maybe even both. Anything to waste time." Gheeran's hand fidgeted at her side, grasping at her robes, while she looked past the bridge.

"Have you visited Marcella?"

Gheeran huffed out a laugh. “You're getting too good at reading people." She paused, rubbing her fingertips against her hands in the efforts to warm them. "There’s enough proof against her. She tried to screw us over. Almost succeeded at least once. It fits her personality, her motive, and even her previous actions. I just—

“It doesn’t feel right to you.” Evune ended her sentence for her. Gheeran stared ahead without gesturing either way. Evune clasped his hand into Gheeran’s and Gheeran jumped back. “I appreciate your honesty.”

Gheeran flushed red.

One of the soldiers came forward and bowed. “I’ll be your guard for the day.”

“Stay close to your guard.” Evune told her and Gheeran firmly nodded.

When Gheeran left, Davan came forward with a deep scowl on his face. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Davan raised a brow but only sighed.

“What?”

“Evune,” Davan wiped a wary hand against his face, “I’ve received an update on Marcella. It concerns my brother.”

Evune stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Davan handed a written missive to Evune. His eyes read the first line before jumping to Davan’s.

Tarsian was planning to assassinate Marcella.

 

 

He couldn't sleep.  

It was the ever present and ever concurrent reality of his life. From leaf sewn sheets to sheets that were silk and satin so smooth that his skin slid across it weightless, it didn't matter. He itched. Nanterius wrote to him to be careful of what he ate, when he ate, and who he ate with. He ended up being trapped in his room, under Tarsian's orders no less, and without another face to see but his own. And he was beginning to hate it all--his eyes, his hair, and even the scars upon his hand. There was nothing that he owned. His history was a lie. His ancestors were monsters. His body was Tarsian's. His mind was Nanterius'. 

All he had was his useless heart. Useless.

His eyes closed, finally, and the heavy burden of exhaustion, the constant balancing act between hunger and nausea, pulling him in like a vacuum went away. His eyes blurred open and he could tell something wasn’t right.  The candles were too bright and there were no shadows patrolling underneath his door. He was standing on white tiles that his hands could not feel. The tiles disappeared, the ground like an apparition, and he was back in his bathroom with his knees on the cold tiles again.

He must’ve fallen asleep in the bath. It was his first thought. Distant and confusing, it didn't occur to him to think much more on it. He shook his head and walked to his room. Shaking his arms and hands of water, he felt like a cat tossing off flecks of water.

 _“Why have you come?”_ A voice breathed in his ear. He turned and saw no one there. _“I don’t like to use you. . .but. . .I can’t. . .”_

Evune swiveled around. Nothing there either.

 _“Do you want a gift? A reward?”_ it whispered again.

Hands appeared on his hip and his eyes flew open. It was Tarsian. He began kissing the corner of his lips and dragging his hands up and down. His eyes were concerned and his lips pulling into a smile. His mouth trailed to the back of his neck and then back to his lips, his tongue gently pressing. Evune's nerves tickled as if sensitized by the bright lights. Electricity struck a point of pleasure when Tarsian's thumb pulled at his bottom lip.

_“More?”_

Davan appeared as if out from thin air. His cock already at attention as he flew around Evune to the floor. Evune fell on all fours above him, and Davan began pressing his tongue inside of his as Tarsian’s thickness rubbed against his ass. The skin of Davan's cock sliding back and forth.

_“Even more?”_

Fingers trailed up his leg as Davan guided him down onto his lap. His cock, less thick and longer than his brother’s, it curved over his ass. Evune slid his ass up and down against his cock as the foreskin slid open and closed. Tarsian pulled away. He stood in front of him his thickness smacked against his cheek, twitching. Tarsian rubbed his cock against it smearing cum on his lips dragging a wet trail.

But Evune couldn’t see the third's face as lips kissed across his back lower and lower. Davan grasped at his ass and spread his cheeks when someone began lapping at his hole. They twisted and turned, thrusting their tongue in and around. Evune fell forward sinking straight on Davan’s cock, squeezing it in. Evune groaned and Tarsian caught his chin, pressing his thumb against his mouth and letting the tip of his thickness fall in. Davan licked at his nipples, trailing down to this stomach and back. The tongue stopped licking and began biting while Evune sucked in the thickened member tasting for crevices he’d never before tasted. Davan pulled out, rubbing his cock against his ass, as if to add more slick, before carefully pulling Evune down again. His cock inch by inch swallowed by his hole. Evune’s groan muffled around Tarsian’s cock as he started thrusting in and out of his mouth like candy, swirling his cock on his lips before thrusting in again. Evune lifted himself up and slammed down when Davan tightened his grip on his ass, stopping him midway. The third’s hands grazed Evune’s sides, teasing before another cock thrusted in. Four hands gripping his waist, shoving his waist down and a hand holding his chin. He felt marked, owned.

Evune cried out as he rocked in three different directions. Tarsian rocked in and out his mouth, dragging his cock against his lips just to hear him cry out as the third pounded him from behind, sliding his cock right past Davan’s curved hardness.

It was too much.

_“Isn’t this what you want? To be treasured.”_

Evune tried to clear his mind. _“Why. . .why?”_  A hard thrust smacked his ass and pounded in and out as Tarsian’s cock fell deeper and deeper into his throat, filling his mouth. He stretched open his mouth, swallowing the cock whole from the tip to the end. Tarsian’s cock stretching all the way down his throat. His hands grappled upwards, clutching Tarsian’s hips as he pounded his throat. Davan yanked him up and down, his cock only stretching his insides as thick balls spanked his ass over and over again.

“ _You’re not like us. Not yet. . .but your heirs will be. . .”_

He could feel something stinging on his skin, stretching and burning his insides. Cocks dragging in as one came out. Tarsian gripped his head with one hand thrusting hard and forcing the other two cocks to strike his insides. Evune couldn’t hold himself up anymore as they sped up, striking harder and harder, smacking, slapping, pounding. He felt like there was nothing left inside. Tarsian stuttered to a stop, his release falling from his lips, as Davan slammed him down one last time and cum dribbled over his ass, sliding down his back. The third gripped his hips and twisted him around as Davan’s release pushed his cock out.

Oran grinned and thrust in, his sack, swelling up again, smacking his ass. Davan pulled out only to ram in again. Oran yanked him up and he fell on both cocks, filling him at the same time. He bounced on both cocks, unable to pull off. Davan raised his hands and rubbed his belly, holding Evune down.

 

 

He fell to his knees only find himself on his bedroom floor laying on his side and the whispers calming down in pitch. His robe hanging on his body open and untied. He wiped his mouth to find it dry and his arms trembling in weakness.

_“I'm sorry."_

_Stop apologizing! You don't mean it. Not this._ He trembled on the ground unsure if it was pleasure or something closer to Tarsian's cruelty.

_"I didn't know what I was doing until--_

_You never stopped._

_"I never stopped."_

_I thought you were my friend._  Evune searched around the room. It no longer appeared distorted or strangely bright. _Of course, a spirit has no heart, no mind_. _You know how I--_  

He didn't feel frightened so much as lost. He couldn't even own the inside of his mind and he curled into himself. Crying.

 _"I shouldn't have allowed that, my friend."_  

_Stop!_

_"It is not me creating those images. It is you."_

Evune swung his arm outward. Still curled into himself

_"I believe you're having multiples and mixed in with these strange magics, it is consuming you but you don't have to let it."_

Evune did not move his hand to his stomach. He would not rise to the spirit's pushing. _What_ _did you do to me?_

 _“I need life to live and your dreams are so lively, so bright. I don't wish to take your heart. I wish to share ours._ The spirit paused. " _Perhaps,_ _I made a mistake. Finding you."_

Evune shakily moved a braid over his shoulder and pushed himself up onto his knees. _You can leave now then. If you feel you have wasted your time._ Evune ignored the pang of his words stinging like a thin metal string. It moves painless but, eventually, as all wounds will, it will bleed and then heal. _Leave._

_“If I left, dalath'lin, you would not survive long."_

_Fuck you._

_"Because, this is you versus the twisted machinations of these people. I am your friend. I do not say this to be condescending. I only wish that I could help."_

Evune laughed baring the weight of the empty room and the echo of his voice against the barren white walls. _Lies have never given me comfort ._

 _“You feel as I do. I know you know the truth. These people are poisoned against the Elvhen, like a disease. But you speak to them and they hear as we do, briefly,”_ Images appeared in his mind. Clothing on elves he had never seen before. Stairs spinning upward in towers floating in the sky. Air that tasted like sun and water that tasted like life.

It felt like a dream but it wasn't his dream. Evune did not wish for candied clouds and quiet plains. 

 _You talk of freedom, but I don’t even know your name._ Evune shakily tried to push himself up only to slide back to the ground.  _You say you are using me. For what?_

 _“The mirror found you and gave you to me. They gave me to you sensing your heart.”_ The voice lilted. Evune opened his hands and the mark that mirror cut into his finger had lightened into another scar on his hand. _Your emotions. . .passion. I share them. Names are irrelevant.”_ The other elf’s thoughts fell into his own as he saw flashes of him watching Evune stumble from the camp, talk with Nanterius, and even dance. _“I did not interrupt your life because I wish to use you. I found myself drawn into you because you have created something amazing. Something precious that those who grapple for power only dream of. Hope."_

_All I have left and you wish for me to give it to you. Fine. Take it._

_"It cannot be stolen. I'm not like your King."_

The floor pulled from beneath him and he appeared inside the house he had only seen from the outside. Sharp walls and bright spirals of red, gold mold across the wall as a thick comforter laid underneath. There was no doors and only windows. He had not awoken. He searched for the spirit, but the room was empty.  _I don’t believe you._

_“Your spirit, both strengths and weaknesses, I admire . And I know that you see them reflected in me.”_

“It means nothing when you don’t exist.”

_"May I touch you?"_

_If you promise to be you, to wear only your face._

_"I do."_

Evune panted, struggling to stand up again when he felt fingers, hands, press against his ass and then press inside, twisting and loosening him until he laid lax on the comforter. “What are you—?” He moaned at the deepening intrusion.

_“It should be no surprise to you that you **are** special. . .to me.”_

 He writhed on his side and took the moment to breath when there was nothing behind him, the fingers suddenly gone, and then it began again, thrusting in and out. It kept thrusting, filling him more than any cock would ever be able to. He splayed his hands squeezing his legs together rubbing his slick as it stretched. He wanted to be angry and hate him with how the heat and care flushed through him. Emotions and feelings that were not his own. A growl whispered in his ear and then kissed along it.

It was too much.

_I’m not special to anyone. A hole. A trophy. An ideal. Don’t pretend._

It pulled out from his ass and hands began touching his sides. Evune was twisted around on his back by invisible hands grazing his lips with its fingers. He flung his arms in the air. It didn’t catch on anything. He kicked out his legs and it didn’t hit anything. The hands grasped his hips and thrust in again, lips pressing against his. The form nearly corporal for a second, its long hair and bright eyes gleaming down on him before he disappeared in the next. His ass slid back into the thrust and the force of the invisible push inside.

 _“I know you fear flutterbugs more than death. That you doubtlessly believe your parents kept truths from you, but **Trust** me. I have seen the heavens we could build.” _ The voice paused. _“And I know that you have seen the parts of me no one will ever see again.”_

His mind flashed memories of his village, his parents, even Carin. It expanded into dreams of a healthy child running through the halls giggling with Davan, not Tarsian. His face without a slave scar. Then off the Spirit fishing for a catch before slipping in a pond. It showed him adorned in fur and armor, his face hooded as he shielded a home. His people, marked with Vallaslin, dying in his arms.

_You'll let go. You'll let go and--_

_“I could never let go. We are one heart. A piece of me will always be with you.”_

Evune groaned as his legs got slick with sweat and it kept thrusting in, never releasing, never shrinking until it finally pulled out. It lifted his legs and Evune couldn’t push back he was stuck with his hands on the ground.

 _“J_ _upalan ma sule tel mar sule’din._ _da’lath’in. _(I will take you until you can no longer move, little heart.) Do you trust me?__ ”

 _Ehn ena ma(Who are you)?_ Evune groaned. _Ehn ena ma? Please._

_“It does not matter.”_

_I can’t trust what I do not know._

_“I will never part from you, while,”_ The voice whispered. _“Ma isala nuven'in. (You desire this.) Our heart is one.”_

Evune whimpered as it stretched his ass even looser and began thrusting even deeper, rolling his hips inward. It spread his legs wider and Evune rode the waves and clutched his sleeping robes as he was thrusted into again and again—spreading his legs, while fingers kneaded his thighs, his ass, and stomach. Its corporal form flashing back in and his head lowering his lips to Evune’s. Evune wrapped his arms around his neck and hesitantly kissed his lips feeling it to be warm and soft. He pulled Evune into his lap, their chests touching as the thrusts slowed down and he lapped at his lips, rubbing his nipples with the entirety of his hand. The other’s emotions kept pulling into Evune and he could feel his own leak out. He deepened the kiss and Evune felt foolish. This was how Tarsian got him—when he was at his lowest.

 _“You are not selling yourself for protection.”_ The figure, even more solid than before, its green eyes and light brown skin appeared. His lips like a bow, ready for a smirk, and cheeks high like a mountain. _“We’re sharing our hearts to make one.”_

He wasn’t sure it mattered anymore whether he was lying. He needed someone _anyone_ to understand where he didn't have to speak. It was a remnant, a shard of solace he needed now. 

_“If I can offer you solace, I will do so in all measures—our minds, our hearts, and our bodies. Even the spirits agree, our souls are in harmony.”_

Evune ignored the voice and kept pressing on, kissing him almost desperately so. This talk of destiny overshadowing his minutes of peace.

 _“You may call me Wolf.”_ He kissed across Evune’s lips. He started thrusting in again over and over smacking into his ass. Pulling Evune’s ass down and deepening his thrusts, pressing careful fingers against his waist, until he released inside. Evune rolled his hips, allowing himself to take all of him, and dragged his fingers along Wolf’s sinewy arm. He felt soothed as if he had been disturbed, alone, for far too long. _“I know you will take care,_ _da’lath’in_ _.”_ His lips nipping at his own as his eyes, like the pools of water in Seheron, stood with such clarity in sight of his own indecisive gaze. He tilted Wolf closer into the kiss and pushed those small sure parts of himself towards him. Wolf smiled against his lips.

 

He jerked awake.  The bag of his armor plates beside him. He grappled at the floor and then pressed a shaky hand against his stomach. He wrapped his arms around it and breathed deeply. He turned around, breathing heavily still when he snatched open Roka’s bag and felt inside to make sure. There was nothing inside.

He pushed a trembling hand through his hair and saw his arm. It was covered in the black scales as if melded into his skin and slightly discolored from the rest of his skin. He pressed against it.

It felt like his skin. His other arm was the same way and the discolored plates linked at his shoulders, stopping at the upper half of his chest. He walked in front of the mirror and hands flitted from his thigh to his hands before holding him tight.

_“I’m not going anywhere.”_

_Did you do this?_

_“No.”_

 

 His hand brushed by the books on the shelves. He hadn't been in this library since the first day seeing Tarsian. It had felt like years since then. Worse yet, he couldn't say he missed it. These days he hadn't been handling his emotions well. A hand knocked outside the library and Sareethi let herself in. She took a perusing look around the library before crossing her arms. Evune gestured towards one of the seats and lit the fireplace with a firelighter he'd stolen from the dining closet. Every time he traversed these halls, he felt cold. He tried not to go near the main room with the throne. He couldn't even look at the damned thing anymore. Some leader he was training up to be. The only thing he could pat himself on the back for was becoming familiar with some of the other servants, he had been snacking quite a bit in the middle of the night. Insomnia struck him most days as he thought up plans or strategies for the best ways to meet someone, introduce someone, or even have others meet others.

All in all. It was a mess.

 _"_ _I am here."_

_I can't depend on you always. We both know that._

Wolf pouted in the back of his mind. He put a blanket between them and focused at the task at hand. Sareethi took a seat at the chair in front of him and Evune slid into the other.

"This feels auspicious. What's going on?" She leaned forward.

He dreaded this conversation and he closed his eyes. "Nanterius."

Sareethi waited a moment and when Evune didn't add a word, she said, "Yes?"

"How do you know her?" He opened his eyes. The flames of the fireplace tickled the back of his neck and the cold room of earlier was hot, nearly too hot. "I trust Nanterius, but, in the coming days I'm going to need more than a friend or a confidante. I'm going to need a second."

"Kaaras' father was Tal-Vashoth. Very honorable and strong, he let his experiences give him depth." Sareethi explained. She leaned back in her chair with a curling smile. "I didn't admire him in the way we're supposed to. Learn from him the way we're supposed to. We built each other off each other like brick and mortar. Together, we were a tower. And then, he disappeared."

Evune's confused expression must've shown because Sareethi continued, speaking slowly, "He was taken in by one of those rogue mages--the lyrium testing. But, he didn't die. It gave him magic."

"Sareethi, if anyone ever knew." Evune couldn't imagine what Elvia would do with this knowledge. She would, at the very least, take Kaaras and try to recreate the experiment. So would that apathetic doctor with the assessing eyes. He shivered. 

"He killed himself." Sareethi's hand slid on the sides, clenching into the comfort. "Couldn't take being a  _saarebas._ A Qunari mage. Nanterius only knew about the lyrium experiments. She was cataloging us to bring it to court. It was how we met. The law never passed."

"Until now."

Sareethi nodded. "Until now."

"Would you be able to deal with me for the rest of our lives?"

Sareethi grinned. "Are you proposing?"

"Are you saying 'yes'?"

"Until death do us part." Sareethi stretched out her arms and cracked her joints. She was ready.

"Until death do us part." Evune repeated. 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

He couldn’t sleep that night. As the hours past, time that felt like days, there was little to no reassurance of his dreams. This sounded ridiculous to Wolf, of course it did, but to Evune it was everything, all of it, where there was the bookcases to hold books, dressers to hold clothing, and a sky to hold the sun; there was no assurance that his wants were valid. It was weightless.

He wanted to save everyone, but--

_"It won't be easy."_

Evune snapped back,  _It's not possible, you mean._

 The room was quiet and Wolf made no acknowledgment or otherwise in reply to his thoughts. He still hadn't found out the connection between the Darkspawn and the map--other than his ancestors. Was she going to use his blood to turn into a dragon? No. It doesn't work like that. She must already know how to be a dragon but his blood. . .it could transform her into something blighted.

The thought was disgusting. Their legend of Toth didn't match up to any of the legends of Dragon Fire. Is it possible someone found out about Dragon Fire years after? Turning them into some kind of monstrous forced Darkspawn. Legends do state that Tevinter Magisters were the first Darkspawn. 

He tapped his icy fingers against the crisp pages of his mother's, his grandmother's, grandfather's book and began to write. He was gratified to read that he was not born a darkspawn. It would've surely been one of the first notes and that meant his children would be born relatively normal--he hoped. He rubbed his hand against his stomach as it itched--a comfortable itch in comparison to last night. As if overnight, his stomach had expanded, slightly, again.  He counted the months his mother carried him. Skimming over until reaching—

27 weeks. She carried him for 27 weeks without an issue. If this one is anywhere between the human’s nine and his mother’s seven, he might only have six months to go.

A hand knocked at his door and then entered. He twisted around and saw Tarsian without his Archon’s robes standing there. Tarsian pulled out his flask of oils. “Ah, you’re ready for me, are you?”

Evune glared.

“Fine, I will only massage.”

Evune sat on the bed with Tarsian behind him, rubbing the oil from his shoulders to his back, and back around his stomach. Evune had to admit. He was feeling a strange stretched feeling on his lower stomach lessen. Tarsian pressed a kiss against his neck.

Evune stretched out his arm and turned to Tarsian. “Do you see anything different?”

Tarsian tenderly pulled Evune around. Evune bent his knees, sitting on them. “The baby is growing.”

“Is that it?” Evune asked, pressing.

Tarsian kissed him, pressing his tongue in only briefly. “All that I can see.”

Evune felt a sting of worry. Was he the only that could see it? The strange leather, the color of his skin, floating, tickling his shoulders.

Tarsian continued, “I hear you’re visiting the Argent Spire to see your friends. I have to speak with the Black Divine today. Would you like to come with?”

Evune covered up his suspicion with a smile. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.” He had wanted to go for days but if Tarsian knew that, he had a feeling the man would string the wait out longer until he figured out why. The last thing he needed to find out was about him and Davan.

As if there was anything with him and Davan.

Tarsian nuzzled against his throat, adding a few kisses. “Nothing will happen. I’m only going to discuss whether Elvia is really the best consort for the future of the empire. I may even get to add your name in.”

Evune nodded. 

He was lying. Why?

 

 

* * *

 

 

When they reached the Argent Spire, it was several tall metal towers and architecture built by the ancients. The ancient elvhen and the ancients of the Tevinter before they warred and before their civil disputes turned to the "civilizing" of a foreign power.  The building reminded him of the fairy tales on Varterrals—a spider-like creature—the way it crouched over the city. Creatures that awoke at the breaking of hallowed ground, when someone found themselves they ought not be.  The dressings of the Argent Spire were like iron lace over the stone castle underneath.

When they arrived, the Black Divine welcomed them with templars lining the white brick paths directing them to the doors of the main tower. The gardens, the fountain, and a few other off-paths were thusly blocked from his venture. There was no sign of Davan.

Evune plastered a smile on his face as Wolf began apologizing, quite annoyingly and profusely.

_“Ar'm abelas(I am regretful). I did not want our first true meeting under duress.”_

_You’ve been twisting my dreams awhile then. Why am I not surprised._  Evune could sense the difference in Wolf's coutenance. He was whole and coherent. _At least you have your memories now._

_"Yes, it is. . .my life was raucous at best and melancholic at worst."_

_How old are you?_

_"So much older than I ever thought."_

_You're from Arlathan, aren't you?_ Excitement buzzed underneath his skin. There were thousands of questions already on the tip of his tongue.

_“Yes. And that is all I will say."_

_Must you already ruin my day?_   Evune pressed his other hand against his mouth to hold in his laughter. He could already catch the stares of passerbys and random Chantry clerics. With only one pamphlet out, they already knew too much about him. You're _like a-a-a vera esha'lin._

_"I don't understand."_

_They call it a cradle robber. Youth snatcher._

_"Ah,"_ Wolf sniffed, almost imperiously, and Evune had to cover up a tripped step in the blaring emotion--humor and light-heartedness. Tarsian gave him a strange look before putting out his arm for Evune to take. _You cannot see me like you see them. I can hide nothing but my appearance. The opposite is true of them.”_

_Are you like a skeleton? Barely any skin on your bones._

_"You've already seen what I am. Stop jesting. My looks do not make it any easier."_

_Still_ Evune snorted. He said under his breath, “Jealous of a whore.” _You’ll be jealous often._

_"I rather like to think having your heart is better than all the rest."_

_Ah and those dreams were just for boredom_

_"I'm still a man, even if not able-bodied."_

 Each step up, was like a twist in his hip. When they reached the top steps, Evune bowed lowly, nearly bending his knees before the other two continued their whispered conversations.

Tarsian dressed him for the visit. As was mentioned, he owned Evune's body and his appearance was of utmost importance outside of his room. The draping two-part robe was black and white, the Vesces crest repeatedly sewn on the edges with white lace on his arms and around his neck. But Evune’s favorite part was the white ink of temporary Vallaslin twisting around his moon scar. He would never admit it, though.

Tarsian wrapped a hand around Evune’s waist as the Black Divine led them through the towers where various clerics, high and low, wearing the Imperial Chantry symbol in their black and red robes. The sounds of humming and praying filled the halls as they went higher and higher into the tower until they reached the Ceremony Room where the Grand Clerics and the Black Divine got together.

The Black Divine tilted his head, humorlessly, “Archon Vesces. Evunial. Pleasure to see you both. The conference will be over shortly.” He gestured towards another hall and swept into the double doors of the assembly.

The room was currently already occupied when another magister, one from the Antonidas clan if Evune recollected correctly, walked in. He tilted his head at the Archon, respectfully, and continued down the hall.

A cleric, one of the many suck-ups in the Argent Spire, slid into the hall, bowing and stumbling over his words. While the name Antonidas peaked his interest, it was one of the family’s deeply embedded in Dwarven politics summarized as a rather young but inquisitive man. And so while the cleric praised the Archon, Evune followed the Antonidas clan member through the hall.

The halls of the Argent spire were beyond magnificent. Imagine glass made of pure rivers, mosaics painted of flowered and harvested rare dyes, and the impeccable cleanliness of an untouched reflection, then the tower fulfilled that and more. He sped up his pacing to turn around the corner and be caught by the shoulders by a hulking guard.

“He’s fine. Leave him be.” The man of Antonidas came out from the corner of the tall man. He tilted his head in the same manner he did with Tarsian. “You are one of the members in the competition.”

“It’s unlike a normal competition, though, isn’t it?” Evune said and the man directed them to a bench nearest to a chantry window with the shape of a slender rose painted on its glass. “A normal competition has winners and rewards. The only thing that is assured is someone’s death.”

“Straightforward and to the point.” The man laughed as they both sat down on the bench. He grinned. “I am Zaldereon Antonidas, the praetor of Val Dorma, but I have a feeling you are already aware.”

Evune lightly smiled. “I know. . . that your clan has a stake in Dwarven economy. How has that been?”

Zaldereon’s brown brows tightened. “It has been torrential like a constant storm. For all its gold, the workers never have enough jobs and the mines are never fully excavated. There is no regulation of business.”

Evune nodded. Shielan, the ‘Boss’ of the Liberati movement, said much of the same thing. It was causing friction among them and the lower castes of dwarves. “The Valens have been hoarding their mines like a child does candies. It’s not much fair in a world of free economies.”

“And what do you believe is the solution?”

“The solution is to divvy up equal halves to the benefit of the lowest.” Evune said calmly. His fingers clasped at his lap. “We are only as strong as the weakest chain. It is something a servant, a slave like me, knows well.”

“The Valens are not a weak adversary.” Zaldereon said slowly. He glanced at Evune with a perusing stare. “There is talk of in-fighting amongst the members and civil argument. I believe there is more to this than meets any our one eyes.”

“Then it would be best if we became four, six, and twelve eyes, wouldn’t it?” Evune asked.

Zaldereon rubbed a heavy hand against his chin and then nodded. “It would be best for us all.”

“Nanterius of Vyrantium is a good friend of mine.” Evune said, as he stood up and bowed, his bow much lower than required of any magister or even cleric. “She will enjoy a missive from us both I think.”

Zaldereon crossed his arms in agreement. “It is always good to have a Valens, even an illegitimate, on your side as well. This is certainly an agreeable arrangement.”

“Oh,” Evune said slowly, wracking his mind for the person he could be suggesting, “Marcella was never a solid partner although we plan on—

The Antonidas clan Magister waved his hand, as if brushing the thought away. “I meant the Knight-Commander. Surely you know his connection to the Valens?”

“I didn’t want to be too presumptuous.” Evune plastered a smile.  “Tevinter seems private about these things.”

“They are.” The man returned. “I hope to discuss more on a later date.”

Evune bowed as Zaldereon and his guards left the hall.

 

 

Evune stood over the pot retching into it until all he could do was dry heave. Davan rubbed against his back and pressed a wet cloth along his lips.

“You never told me.”

Davan threaded his hand through his hair and blew out his cheeks. “My mother never officially put herself down in my genealogy. Technically, by Tevinter standards, I have no mother.”

The upper towers of the Argent Spire were more like organized, commodified quarters with each having the same furniture, the same amount of room, and the same doors pointed out the same way.

“Yes, you do. And she’s a Valens, which should make you _more_ legitimate than an adopted child from the streets.”

“In another world, the illegitimate child of an illegitimate child is still a child,” Davan answered. “At least here in the Tower, we can pretend to make sense of things.”

Evune finished. “Through the Maker.”

“It’s not that much different from the circle, actually,” Gheeran said as she rolled on the balls of her feet. “Except I get my own room. I like that. And the library has all sorts of books but some are in Tevene. I haven’t fully learned all the language yet. Especially when there’s three dialects. But, religion aside, this is really nice.”

Evune appreciated her interrupting the tension flooding the room. Davan didn’t seem to think much at all of his connection to the Valens clan. He took the cloth and dropped down into the chair against the wall, wiping his face with the cloth. “I don’t think you would have to learn _all_ three.”

“I don’t like to do things halfway,” Gheeran answered. She tossed a look at Keela who sat on her bed staring at Evune. “What’s with you?”

“You weren’t lying about being ill.” Keela said, her voice cool.

Evune leaned his head against the wall, taking the cold to abate his throbbing head. “Like you said, it would be suicide if I lost.”

Keela continued on, her eyes narrowed, “But I haven’t seen an illness like that since I had my daughter.”

Davan cut in, “Accusing each other of—

“I’m not accusing him of anything,” Keela said before resting back against her bed and her arms behind her head. “I’m only saying the truth. He’ll need us to cover his back not only the other way around.”

Gheeran snapped her fingers and a smile lit up her face. “One of us needs to win the Proving and draw Elvia’s attention.”

“I’ll take the hit for the team,” Keela smirked.

Gheeran shared a look with the other two. “I’ve never seen you fight before. . .”

“My family was a merchant group but more like pirates than anything.” Keela continued to say, “I fought as a mercenary for twelve years before meeting my husband.” Her eyes veered on the three others. “I know how to fight.”

Evune agreed. “Things are almost ready then.”

A sharp knock hit the door. “It’s Arnarel. The Archon has asked for you, Evune.”

Evune closed his eyes briefly before pushing himself up.

 

 

Tarsian turned around. “Where have you been?”

“Sareethi’s son Kaaras is training here now,” Evune said as Tarsian stared him down. “But it’s all reading and writing for now. It seems I don’t get to see them wear any tiny armor.”

Tarsian huffed and said, “I don’t want you too far from the assembly. I have few friends here.”

 _You have less than you know._ Evune said to himself before letting Tarsian lead him back. Tarsian turned to him. “I’ll call you when—

The Black Divine interrupted with a cough. The doors now open. “Archon Vesces, the clerics wish to speak to Evune first. Alone.”

Tarsian’s eyes tightened. He pulled Evune behind him. “No.”

“I regret to say that there’s not much of a choice.”

Tarsian’s lips twisted into a sneer. “I want guards in the room with him.”

“What?” Evune drew a confused expression.  He shook his head. “I’m only a . . . a servant. I’m not important.” His eyes jumped from one tile on the ground to the next as he wondered what the clerics would want to speak to him about. Davan? His visiting the other Hole members?

None of those made sense.

The Black Divine merely walked into the room and a few of the lesser clerics guided Evune inside as Tarsian stood back, staring. The eerie feeling of trouble settled on his mind. It reminded him of when he walked into the halls of Vyrantium’s forum. Someone was being led to pasture for a hunt. They directed him to wait outside the looming doorway of the Ceremony room. It was by chance that he saw Davan. Davan, not aware Evune would be there, hurriedly rushed over. He whispered, “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“I was just told that Elvia is on her way here to visit,” Davan added before wiping his worrisome expression with his hand. “Why did you have to come today of all days?”

Evune released a deep breath, “Tarsian asked me to.”

Davan twisted away and pressed his hand to his lips as if thinking a hundred paces a minute. “I’m going to have my men check the perimeter and get the cadets in a safe place.”

“It might be nothing,” Evune added.

“Let’s hope,” Davan said before taking a double-look around the halls, he pressed a quick kiss to Evune’s temple. “Be careful.”

 

 

The Ceremony Room was a domed room where the Black Divine sat at a platform, much like a judge, and the clerics, divided by their clothing and clothing pieces, sat in rows on both sides of the path leading to the center.

He stood in the center and felt as if he was being tried. He wasn’t sure that he wasn’t.

“Evunial of the Nazari Clan in Seheron, correct?” the Black Divine announced.

Evune listened to the low whispers of the clerics.  He raised his head. “Yes.”

The Black Divine sighed. “I have heard many things of you. Some good. Much bad.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Evune countered, “But having only met me at my worst and weakest is unreliable.

The Black Divine leaned on his palm. “Oh?”

“Yes, I have only learned of Tevinter tradition a months past and been a member of the Hole for two.”

“And yet, in all that time,” The Black Divine pulled out a large red book and it thumped on the podium stand.  “You created tension with our Dwarven neighbors. One of your friends hid an important artifact to finding the Hand of Thoth, and we have received word that you are not representing yourself in the trial of the Proving.”

Evune grasped his hands tight. He eased out a breath. “I haven’t been feeling well.” No one should’ve known about him choosing a representative yet. Tarsian couldn’t have been idiotic enough to. And the only other person. . .no, Davan would never.

“This isn’t like a college where you can call in sick, elf, you have signed a contract dictating your allegiance to the Hole and its trials, correct?”

Evune pursed his lips. “Yes.”

“Good,” The Black Divine cleared his throat, “Then you will not be having a representative for the Hole. But, since you have carelessly ignored our rules, the other members of the Hole _will._ In order to make things fair, you will be placed under probation by the court as of now. At any point and time, we will be able to put you in prison.”

“May I ask something, sir?” Evune bitterly added. “If the Proving allows representation in the case of illness, why am I not included? In all fairness.”

The Black Divine huffed and as soon as he opened his mouth the doors opened with a screech. Elvia and Dr. Porenni strode in as if it were a regular happenstance. Evune clutched the nearest rail. He tried tightening his hold to stop the trembling.

Elvia bowed deeply.

“Elvia, however good it may be to see you, you are interrupting an official assembly.”

Elvia tilted her head. “I understand, but I have heard rumors of Evune’s illness as well.” She outstretched her hand to Dr. Porenni’s shoulder. The man ignored Evune and yet he still felt as if the doctor’s eyes were crawling on his skin like insects.  “And it is my responsibility to advise the members—health included—to keep the trials running smoothly. I have even been reprimanded for my remiss which is why Dr. Titus here can give him a thorough check-up.”

 _Titus?_ Evune glared over at the doctor. This was why they couldn’t find him.

The Black Divine frowned. “We have already—

One of the grand clerics stood up. “I agree with Consort Vesces. And if he is proven to be a liar, we increase the harshness of the punishment.” Three more clerics stood up in agreement while the rest whispered amongst themselves.

“Fine.” The Black Divine’s frown deepened and he hit his mallet on the podium. “Call the Archon in.”

 

The exit Elvia and Dr. Porenni had him use took a different hallway than the one he came in from. Two guards, standing outside the door, crowded behind him and there was no way he was getting through them. “It’s unfortunate that you’ve misunderstood everything. Not that I’m surprised at the intelligence of an elf.”

There were no others in the hallway that appeared rarely used and far less decorated. Evune held his hands tight against the robes.

 The long hallway stretched on and on without any turns increasing his fear that these weren’t normal halls. He knew of halls that the elves once traversed when their servitude was an unbearable annoyance. Elven servants traveled through catacomb-like backdoors, rooms, and halls to keep out of sight. The guards yanked him to a stop with a nod from Elvia. The hall had led them to a door. A single mahogany door that, unlike the previous derelict halls, was cleanly painted over. The door opened and a lab stood inside, similar to the one he had been held prison in before. It even had the same cold stone bed.

_Wolf?_

_"Something is preventing me from escaping."_

The guards tightened their hold and pulled him inside, the door creaking shut behind them.

 “I could,” Elvia started to say, her eyes flickered up to Evune’s, “burn you in fire. Freeze you in ice. Murder you in cold blood and even get away with it too."

"Then _kill_ me." Evune gritted his teeth.

Elvia merely blinked and then laughed, waving him off. "It would be a waste of mana, honestly, I’m only angry an ant like you is playing the game without knowing the rules. You’ve dirtied my name and expected no retribution? Shame. ” 

Dr. Porenni snatched his arm and gripped it tightly as he pulled Evune to the stone bed. Elvia waved her hand at one of the guards and they lit a fire. "You see, we found out your weakness all those days ago at the auction."

Evune spit. “If I die, it’ll only be proof.”

"Lyrium is such a strange allergy to have."

Evune could  _feel_ Wolf choking while the itching he expected to find was nonexistent. He fought against the constraints failing to turn away from the smell of wet mineral.

Elvia curled a long nail over her cheek, “I do have a weakness for stringing things along. We can pretend it's the same."

Dr. Porenni twisted a rubber string around Evune’s arm as he pulled out a syringe from a boiling beaker of water. He pressed a finger against his arm.

Evune cheeks burned. He couldn't breathe without Wolf struggling to ward off the affect of the Lyrium. “What are you going to do to me?”

Elvia sighed. “I don't care a bronze coin about you."

“But--

"The only reason you're alive at all is because of Tarsian, but he's grown tired of you, you know."

"He wouldn't. He--

"Has too much to gain?" Elvia finished, dropping her hand to dance along his stomach. "Oh, I know all about it."

Wet pulled at the fringes of his eyelids. He pulled as far away as he could which wasn't far ata all. "You can't."

"And I won't. Sadly. I wouldn't get too attached to the bastards either!" Elvia slapped a hand on the nearest desk and beakers trembled at the slam. She exhaled sharply and returned to her cool exterior. She made a cooing sound, like she was speaking to a child, "Poor elf. So easily used and manipulated. You really thought it was about me against him, didn't you? As if I would care about Marcella, an idiot slave.”

He tensed. Elvia was spiraling into something more erratic and more spontaneous than usual. What did Tarsian do? "He planned on killing her."

Elvia waved her hand like swatting a bug. "Of course, she was one of your allies pretending to be my spy. Unbelievable."

"You," Evune pressed, incredulous at the height Elvia's distrust could rise, "think he's going to kill her in punishment."

"Why else--

"He's putting you into a trap." Evune couldn't believe how tangled the web had become. Who else could've been the spider but Tarsian? "Marcella spoke to a spy outside the camp and she was told directly that she was working under _your_ orders."

Elvia laughed, a cold twittering and from behind him, he could hear the swords shift at the guardsmen's sides. "Unlike you, I have contingencies. My brother--

"Then where is he?"

Elvia twisted her hands behind her back and her feet tapped, one step, two steps, three and she stood in front of him. "My brother will not be used against me."

" _Some_ one in your clan is working with Tarsian. How else would have I avoided you for so long? On skill?" Evune knew he was pulling into a stretch and the lie could rip out the middle in any one misstep. "You've already caught me countless times. How else do I keep escaping?"

Elvia nodded slowly before reaching over and clutching his chin. A red smile stretched across her face. "Power stuffed in such a stupid, wasteful body and the most you can do is run around making friends and _talking_. I can never tell if I hate you more him."

"My blood isn't--

"Isn't it? " Elvia said nonchalantly and she let his jaw loose. She pressed a gentle finger against her chin. "The Titan didn't like me much more than you, oh, but the stories it told me when I asked. Especially as I chipped away at its body piece by piece to get the Lyrium. No. All I need is the key to the Fade. In your blood."

He lunged forward, only for her guards to yank him to his knees and Elvia followed with the lace of her robes grazing the ground and whistling against the cement.

"He started reading my missives behind my back. Cleanly stamping them closed as if untouched." Elvia continued,"I thought my parents were planning against me. Danarius thought so too and with the blessing of the great Archon, we stole the Valens throne from them." Elvia snapped her fingers. "It was easy. Almost too easy and we didn't realize until it was too late."

Evune stilled. There was no use talking. She only wanted to rile him up now.

"You thought the mines were mine, didn't you? Perhaps you thought none of us saw the mirror react to your touch, because it makes all the sense in the world that the Archon's settlement wouldn't be armor tight. You could've even believed that it was just a _coincidence_ the people you met, the way things fell into your lap, like your father, that fisherman from your village, even that elf, Arnarel was it?"

Evune hissed, “You’re lying.”

“It hurts to know you're a pawn, doesn't it?” Elvia walked forward and gripped her pale hand around his chin again, but she lifted him up as Dr. Porenni squeezed the syringe. She spoke lowly, “That is all a Consort is. A heat to bury in. A mouth to use. An extension of a main piece. But to be Archon, to be King? This is what I _deserve._ " Her nails scratched against his chin leaving rivulets of blood as she pulled away. She turned to leave when Evune knew he couldn't let it end like this. It couldn't.

"They turned into Darkspawn."

Elvia stopped in the middle of the doorway. Her head turned to the side as if listening but only barely. "What did you say?"

Evune gritted his teeth. He hadn't admitted it to himself yet. To speak it aloud was torture. "They turned into Darkspawn. The Dragon, Mythal, did something and--

"Oh," Elvia's burst into laughter, clutching her side. It lasted long enough that even the doctor paused his work. "This is rich! This is even better! Did you think that would dissuade me?"

Yes. He rather thought Darkspawn would freeze anyone in their trails.

"The Fade was found through Darkspawn!" She snapped forward and grinned, patting his cheek. "You've given me even more energy. I must say. Tarsian was right about one thing. Sometimes, you know how to say the absolute worst things for yourself."

Evune dropped his head. He breathed tightly, feeling his chest constrict. 

"Take several beakers of his blood. I wish to begin the final stages. Soon." Elvia commanded with a pointed look and Dr. Porenni stabbed the syringe in Evune’s arm, pulling out three small beaker’s worth of blood.  “You should feel at home here. I hear bugs like the dark.” Dr. Porenni jabbed an injection into his arm and numbness stiffened Evune's joints. Evune strained against it, struggling to keep control of his fingers as his wrist spasmed against the motion until his fingers fell still. The doctor began humming as he unraveled a tube, connecting its end to a beaker at the floor, and began taking his blood. 

He glared at the doctor as he continued humming. “My apologies, but your blood is still ever fascinating.” The doctor opened a bag filled with pockets of chilled phylacteries of blood. He jiggled the empty phylactery in the air. "I need my own separate stock too. No worries, if you start to feel light-headed I'll see your eyes lose focus." He reached for an empty one to replace the previous one now nearly full of red blood. 

Evune choked out, the stinging numbness only barely at his throat, "Why?"

"I don't like mages."

"She's going to get everyone killed." Evune tried to swallow the air, only to feel stick in his throat. The Doctor pulled him sitting upright.

 "Shows how little you know." Dr. Porenni tsked. "Here's a little fun fact. Did you know that Toth was blind?"

Evune glared.

"So," Dr. Porenni said slowly as if Evune couldn't comprehend his words, "how did he kill? Fight? On equal levels, if not stronger than his companions."

Evune seethed. "Magic."

Dr. Porenni laughed. "Toth was  _no_ mage. But, he could sense them. Feel the air for the shift in the Fade and he slaughtered mages easier, faster than any other enemy. One of the foundations of Tevinter society is a non-mage and yet every person in power is a mage."

"Elvia is a mage." Evune spat, bitterly, "She won't slaughter mages for you. This is to gain magic."

"She doesn't care about magic! It's the Fade she wants. It's all Tevinter has ever wanted." Dr. Porenni said, a wide grin stretched across his face, " The discovery of a new world of unventured ground, well, that's a mathematician's, a scientist's dream."

Evune coughed, catching another whiff of Lyrium. He hoped Wolf was safe. The connection weakened to a small meep. "You're all insane." 

The doctor dropped his hands on Evune’s legs, clasping them tight. Evune swung his fist and doctor dodged it with a smirk. He pulled out a small thin needle that pricked his skin. Evune’s vision blurred and his arm started burning and the feeling stretched across his arms. He tried flailing his arm but he couldn’t see. He exhaled, losing focus, and when he came back to, the beakers and the entire left wall was shattered on the floor. Evune dropped his arms finding Dr. Porenni was on the floor clutching his face as rivulets of blood fell down his face.

“How did you do that?” He clutched his face and tapped at the wound, staring at the blood coating his fingers. He turned to Evune. “ _What_ are you?”

Evune rushed out the door, barely jumping out from the doctor’s flung out arms. The guards swiveled around and he felt his skin burn again, peeling off, blades flew in the air and the guards’ throats were sliced in two.

“Fenedhis! Stop!” The blades spun back and Evune covered his face, only to feel the blades smack into his arm. The force of the throwback slid him across the floor. He opened his eyes and stretched out his now sore arm.

The sound of armor and several soldiers stomped down until they reached Evune crouched to the ground. “They attacked first.” He gasped out, feeling his throat constrict, before his eyes rolled in the back of his head.

The last words he heard, “The Black Divine wished to speak with him. What will we—?”

 

 

 They chained him to a couch.

The room had transparent curtains draping over the walls, pillows, plush and large, sprinkled around on and around a round table on a lowered floor plane.  The carpet, gold and blue, wrapped around the floor much like the pillows. The only colorless piece of the room was the couch Evune laid on.

_"The shackles are enforced by hexes. I can't--_

"Then don't." Evune said aloud. His robes bunching around his stomach, he curled on his side allowing the shackles, almost familiar now, to weigh his arm off the sides. " I'm done. I give up."

"Evune."

Evune tightened his eyes shut and pulled himself to face the backing of the couch, even as the heavy iron of the shackles pulled at his arm. His arms pulled taut behind him, tugging at his elbow.

"You'll hurt yourself." Davan said, his footsteps rushing, nearly running forward to reach Evune, past the table, the pillows. He crouched over the couch and yanked at the heavy barbell beside his foot. The iron ball screeched against the floor, rubbing through the carpet as it slid a mere inch, but it had been more than Evune had been able to do in the hours he had been left there. He pressed a hand against Evune's shoulder. "The Black Divine will help you. You can''t allow this to go on."

"You told him." Evune knocked his hand off and dug his head further his left hand, his free hand. Davan gritted his teeth. Evune could hear it grind behind him and listened to the stunted movement of his hands and arms. 

"You lied to me." Evune finished.

Davan cut in, "You don't understand."

"I don't want to!" Evune pressed his hand hoping that with one ear covered, he could pretend to hear less or, preferably, nothing at all.

"My mother fought for the rights of slaves." Davan's words were hushed. "She tried, dedicated her whole life to it but when my brother became of age and took the seat--

A new voice fell on their ears. Tarsian, his voice as familiar as air that sucked in their chest, sighed deeply, destroying any semblance of peace or resolution. "It wasn't supposed to be this difficult." His footsteps sounded closer than Evune would've expected. He gathered that the two brothers had come in together. "You could've dealt your hand and gotten your cards fitted. No one had to lose."

His arm, now with some wiggle room, pulled tight to hold against his other, interlocking his hands. He covered his eyes, blocking the light. "Favors. Promises. Slavery. The key parts of Tevinter."

"I wouldn't be too harsh with my brother." Tarsian said, his voice now right next to Evune's ear. The elf shivered and shrank from the man. Evune could feel Wolf trying to push forward, press through to become corporate only to curse. He had, in all likeliness, used up his abilities yesterday. The sounds of clothing rustled behind him and Evune prayed that Tarsian would not be cruel.

That he would not do this in front of Davan.

"Open your eyes," Tarsian ordered.

Evune felt the nerves in his body crackle and pull, resisting the order. But he opened his eyes, staring up into Tarsian's dual-colored eyes as a smirk graced his lips. The Archon spoke, "It wasn't entirely his fault." A tanned arm was shoved in front of Evune with an age-old burn mark of the Vesce slave insignia on the upper half of his wrist. "Like all siblings. He had to be leashed."

Evune raised his eyes to see Davan staring at the carpet beside the couch as if he wore armor five times heavier than usual and the ground could not help but want to drag him into the depths of its dirt. His shoulders tense and his lips twisting so tight on his face that his cheeks seemed to redden with pull.

He was like a tree. His veins like vines. His soul like roots in and out the dirt.

And he thought of Inan's house.

Heavy hands knocked against the door. "Archon Vesces! Elvia is disrupting the court."

Tarsian swept his robes over his feet and without another look, sound, or even twitch of acknowledgment, strode out the room, while Davan's arm sat still in front of Evune still. Evune pulled Davan, who refused to even glance at Evune, as the Templar fell to his knees, his head against Evune's shoulder. His hand wrapped under Evune's as he held the man's hands tight over his chest. 

 "I'm sorry." Davan breathed.

"Davan."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Davan's voice muffled in and out against Evune's shoulder, repeating over and over again.

 

 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dudes, there is more smut in this chapter.

 

Gheeran hated Orlesian cakes. Any Orlesian worth their two cents thought the same and, although an Orlesian would never admit this--pride, you understand--the rest of Thedas loved their cakes. Every year, a newly decorated and too sweet cake was introduced to Thedas and all of Orlais' elite would let the world know, "Orlais is where the best of the best lives." And pride was a rather conflicting and powerful emotion. It made you do things you wouldn't otherwise do. From the very beginning Gheeran wanted to be better than any mage in the circle but it was a sentiment shared in every Orlesian mage. Even still, she felt she was different. She admired the Enchanters with every fiber of her being. She wasn't wealthy enough to travel outside of the inner city and was far too scared to leave even then. And so with her studies and her inspiration, she realized the cornerstones, the foundations of the Magi. It was to her disappointment, even moreso, when she realized she had to leave the circle to grow outside it, to be better than it.

She could've easily become _their_ version of the best. She could've perfected the way to speak, to learn, to write to gain their admiration. Yet, she didn't. Pride, as well, made it unbearably difficult to admit if the difficulties became too difficult. Pride made it difficult to admit she still felt unfulfilled. 

And then, Marcella, "The ever prim princess," Gheeran thought, came into the tower and her life changed. Her first real friend and her only friend there--even if they lived two different lives. The Orlesians with no houses and castes were often restricted to the Tower like Fereldens, but Marcella introduced her to that small precious nugget of freedom. She rode a boat for the first time. Ventured through a forest. She even baked a pie using a chimney. Until Marcella disappeared without a word or a goodbye.  

Gheeran's father, the simple man, was a Ferelden. His mannerisms and speech were easy enough to copy when she wanted to hide her intelligence, and often he visited her in the tower while her mother pretended she had two instead of three children.

He always left her those cakes. 

So, she snuck to the prison cells nestled at the very bottom of the Argent Spire to find Marcella. 

"You shouldn't be here." Marcella's dry voice said. Her body hidden in the dark of the cell where Gheeran could only see a wisp of her hair from dimly lit torches. Gheeran pulled up her robe and folded her legs forward, sitting close enough to the bars that her knees fell through the openings.

"They're not feeding, you are they?"

"You shouldn't be here," Marcella repeated. 

Gheeran countered, "Neither should you."

Marcella huffed. "I tried to bargain for my family's pardon. I knew it was an option."

"Not much of a price."

Marcella's eyes narrowed. "There is never a price too high." And Gheeran could tell Marcella had lost interest and, worse yet, given from her gaunt appearance, lost hope. The gray tinge of the cell's dust and the discolored green iron bars against her face only made that more apparent.

"Did I ever tell you why I left?"

Marcella sighed, hoping for a longer silence. "You finally got that title you always wanted."

"No," Gheeran's lips twitched, "I won my title as a joke, even if I hadn't known at the time."

"Oh, and when they ask you to join the council in twenty years, you'll respond in kind."

"'Youngest Senior Enchanter'." Gheeran said, her hands sparkling in the air with a spell children learn,  "And yet, when they asked me, 'Youngest Senior Enchanter, tell us why we cannot marry, we cannot love.'. " She pressed her hands through the bars. Keeping it in the air even as her arm started to waver as her shoulder got tired. Her arm began to slip and Marcella caught her hand, holding onto her fingers keeping her hand elevated.  "I had no answer. They were right." The footsteps of armored feet walked by and the sharp ring of prison keys hitting against each other got louder, only to get quiet again. Marcella's face illuminated in the light as she leaned forward.

"You never explained how you got in." Her hair shadowing covering parts of her face but her burn marks fell into full view--splotches of pulled skin like webs.

"The door. You know that."

Marcella's lips twitched. "That easy?"

"Easier." Gheeran teased. The heaviness in the air more suffocating than the dust or the smell of sickness wafting from the lower cells.

"Something is happening. Tell me what."

Gheeran shook her head and stared at the prison ground. "Evune was being used. They should be arguing, fighting, maybe even dying."

"By the Knight-Captain's hand."

Gheeran corrected her. "Knight-Commander."

"You never told them," Marcella said, her eyes perusing, nearly questioning. "It would've helped me at the very least."

"His personality trusted you well enough."

"He's not very clever, is he?"

"We knew that."

"So," Marcella sighed again, "you wanted to--

Gheeran cut in, "If he can't save himself, how can he save us?" In her frustration, she shook the bars more made at herself than anyone else. "I should've came by before all this. I'm sorry. We never needed Elvia, this insanity, this tourney, we could've--"

"Don't be. They're not going to kill me. Not yet. And we did need it."

"Maybe." Gheeran opened her open and pulled out a tied piece of cloth. It was the map of Arlathan. "Keela helped. She wants out too."

"If we run away, they could find us."

"We could, they could," Gheeran tilted her head. "But I think we're tired of running. This only ends one way."

"When did you get so smart?"

"Well, I was always smarter than you so--

"Hah hah."

"You know--I--you never," Gheeran paused, "You never returned my missives."

 "If you wanted to know about the scars know that they were from the fire. Indirectness is only cute half the time."

Gheeran rolled her eyes. "Tell me then, what happened."

"The Qunari blew up my uncle's ship. Killed my brother, my mother, and my father. They punished me after. Branded me."

"One day, he'll pay."

"Promises. Promises." Marcella repeated, her voice still light. "You should go to your room. Keela will keep you and that map safe." Gheeran pulled away from the prison bars and whisked out the door leaving Marcella to the bare, emptiness of the prison.

Marcella once took the care of others for granted. She then decided to use the care granted on others. She didn't know she could be granted the care of others without trying. But she had waved her pride long ago.

Gheeran always looked nice in yellow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Keela didn't like Evune. She thought he was one of those pretentious elves who always believed their  _way_ was the cleverest, the most efficient, the  **best _._** It was a common thing among elves that lived outside of cities. They thought the only sense of freedom was to live outside of humanity, but they shared this world together.

Her family had been a mix of orphans, of elves and non-elves, of bakers and fisherman, of thieves and bankers. Their family, although not bound by blood, bled together to survive. She remembers sitting beside her sister, Hari, overlooking the port as Armin, one of their many father figures, hooked into port. Hari was learning to sculpt and fallen in love with her teacher. Keela remembered the smell of fresh clay and paint splotched on her sister's hands. Keela had always admired her older sister. She was well-spoken and always speaking to someone. Keela wanted to be like her.  She remembers the look of wonder stretching across her own face as he dropped a Tevinter glass globe with a small castle fitted inside on her hand. Patting her head as his long brown beard tickled her cheeks, he said, "One day, you will see the world." His shadow tall and overreaching as the globe twinkled. Hari, with her long hair black like Rivain twilight, tossed over her shoulder and answered, "Isn't that a pirate's dream?"

Keela promised herself that she would see it--every country, every people, every place. 

She stared at the Argent Spire when they first arrived. The looming building sat elderly and gingerly above them with age coursing through every brick. The Tevinters had taken care of it and its glass, its metals shined in the sun but it could not erase the smudge of time. This was the castle she dreamed of finding? It was every bit as beautiful as she remembered but the memory had become twisted with the contorted bodies of her dead family members.

Hari, her sister, had betrayed them. In Rivain, there is a Qunari settlement. Her sister's art instructor, a well-traveled man, convinced her of the Qun. To the Qunari, he was unworthy but her sister. . .her sister had value. She told them of her family, where they lived, and how they lived. Keela had been out to market for their mother, Ailee, buying fruit. When she found the four-building home, a slack, sidewise standing wooden house burning to the ground, she ran. 

It was many years later that her sister found her. Keela had believed herself no longer an interest. She was wrong. And so, in the middle of the night, she left her husband, her children. She would likely never see again. In the last few months, she had been sending gold to them by the pouches. Some days, she hoped they would write a letter, just one.

"We understand." it would say.

Yet, she knew she would wait an eternity to receive that one missive. They would be well off without her. Her husband would remarry. Life would go on.

"He's an idiot."

Keela dipped the spoon in her bowl and sipped the hot broth as Gheeran continued to complain. They preferred to eat in the kitchens than with the templars in the dining hall. It was a small side-room where the servants ate their meals.

"I told him to apologize and pretend." Gheeran waved her hand in the air erratically, gaining the attention of the cadets and more than few templar guards. "He told me that this is what the Archon and the Consort wants so he  _can't_ do it. Is this an elven thing?"

"I never had this problem," Keela admitted. Her eyes peered around the halls. She tapped her fingers against the table, counting for the eyes watching them a little too closely. "Lying, that is."

Gheeran dropped her gaze to the table. She pushed away her bowl and merely nibbled on the bread. "I don't know what he's thinking. It makes me nervous."

"I doubt he's thinking at all." Keela retorted. "He says he wants to protect us, save us but he can't even get his knight to do his job."

"You know," Gheeran said lowly, her eyes peeked over her shoulders before dropping her eyes back to the table, "if he can't defeat her. We're going to die."

"We won't die if we run." Keela slid the knife against her slice of bread, cutting it into pieces. "Might even be able to bring your girlfriend with."

"I don't want to die." Gheeran's eyes began watering. "There's so much more to read and learn. It's not fair. I--I thought--"

"It's because he's doing it all on his own," Keela added. "He thinks he's hot samite but when it comes down to it. He's just as weak as us."

Gheeran tossed her a questioning glance.

Keela sighed. "Look, the stupid ass went all 'I'm going to save everyone' but that's not how the world works. People save themselves and save others. For every broken chain and hole, there has to be someone to either cover it up or fix it altogether. You can't ignore it and hope it goes away."

"We can't abandon him," Gheeran repeated. "Elvia would've killed us back on the island if he wasn't here. She still would even after we left."

Keela picked up her bowl and gulped down the rest of her broth before wiping her hand across her mouth. She pushed away from the table and stood up to leave. Gheeran turned to her, still peeking over her shoulder to see the templars watching them still.

"Where are you going?" Gheeran hissed.

"To fill a hole." Keela twisted around and templars blocked her exit.  Her fingers twitched at her side and her bread knife slid out from underneath her sleeve. Like an ocean wave splashing up as the storm took hold, the templars split in half with their iron boots clapping against the stone ground and the double doors behind them opened. The Black Divine swept out his hand at his entrance.

"I believe we have shared interests." 

 

* * *

 

 

Templars locked the doors. Gheeran and Keela weren't leaving the room any time soon. This made her all very  _concerned_. 

"This elf is keeping a secret." the Black Divine started. His eyes, clear and unblemished by age, but his cheeks sallow and fingers thin with gold rings around them. Keela had to reign in the urge to sneak a few off his hand. She leaned back in her chair.

Keela scoffed. "What do we get out of this? Bring something to the table."

The Black Divine's lips curled. "My niece has lost control of the family. Her brother is blinded by greed and power. However illegitimate he may be, the Knight-Commander is important to me."

"There's nothing we can do." Gheeran stated. She turned to Keela with a quizzical stare.

Keela leaned forward and a grin pulled at her mouth. "Evune won't be your fetch dog."

"I don't need a fetch dog. I need morality and good behavior. The Knight-Commander is admired by my templars. If he is injured, there will be a split. I can't have dissolution." The Black Divine said imperiously. His hands now steepled on the table.

"It's not even about him for you, is it?" Keela could see the indents, more than several decades past, and even the knicks of a former swordsman from his hands. Keela cocked her head. "What do you want us to do?"

Gheeran whirled around. "We can't--" In a quick stare, Keela silenced Gheeran, and Gheeran's mouth snapped shut.

The Black Divine cleared his throat. "I will imprison him under the wishes of the Archon, but, he will be under my protection until the Proving. As will the Knight-Commander."

"You could do it anyway. You don't need us." Keela answered. Her interest peaked she leaned forward, her fingers tapping on the table. "We're only servants of the Consort."

"You know him." The Black Divine said, "Tell me what you know."

Keela slowly nodded. She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms. "His parents are dead, murdered by your niece and the blood mage he killed. He's obsessed with curing, fixing ills."

The Black Divine pursed his lips.

Keela opened her mouth and she told him everything. Gheeran kept quiet, every once inawhile tossing a worried look as the Black Divine asked questions. A few hours past and Keela said, "He wants Elvia dead. I don't see a place where she lives if Evune is let free."

The Black Divine stood up, his bones cracking in the movement but no reaction stood on his face. He twisted around and disappeared through the door, taking most of the templars with him.

Keela tapped her fingers against the table and then stood up.

 

 

_1 st day of Harvestmere_

 

Illegitimate, in the words of the Imperium, meant "devalued in relation to the origin bloodline". Davan explained to him the rules of Tevinter and why Magisters generally only had one heir. A second heir would always be illegitimate and marked as such. The curse of multiples was not a matter of omen so much as a premonition of their lives--to be servants to their elder.

They chained him in a cell next to Marcella. They called him a murderer and crazed by now. Yet, still a member of the Hole. Unlike Marcella, he was still under probation. His imprisonment prevented him from going much deeper. Two weeks had passed and it had given him time to think. He closed his eyes and began sweeping his feet across the flooring in a faster version of his mother’s dance. His ankles bent and twirled as he swung back and forth in the manner similar to Wolf's motions.

Wolf had been weakened by the Lyrium so much so that he was closer to his original state, when they first met, then he was to lucidity. His words broken and misunderstood again even if there was still an openness of emotions. Wolf would be fine. In time.

Every day, he heard Elvia’s laughter ringing in his ears when he was imprisoned. Other days he heard Davan's voice murmuring, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." over and over again. With every mistake he made, his name became memorized in the minds and mouths of the Imperium. Magisters now knew his name. Laetans now knew his name. The Liberati and casteless had been whispering all the while with varying stories of exaggeration.

When let out, there was no place that would be safe for him. He could no longer hide and play dumb. A smile pulled at his lips.

Metal keys clacked against the priest's belt as he marched inside, a look of distaste on his face. He shoved a plate of food through the cell opening at the bottom and Evune pounced on it. The man’s nose twisted in disgust, “Let’s hope that child isn’t a beast like its parent.”

Evune seethed, “Better a beast than cattle made for slaughter.” He had been thrown in the cell with the same clothing he had been wearing when thrown in and his bare belly peaked through the opening of the robe—curved, with his belly button sticking out.

The priest whirled around and slammed the door shut.

_“They call us beasts when they don’t understand.”_

_I know._

_“He lies as well. You are beautifully full with child.”_

_Stop sucking up._

The voice laughed in the corner of his mind before disappearing again.

“You shouldn’t anger the priests like that.” Marcella pressed her face against the bar and turned to face Evune.

“Davan preps the food and oversees all the people who send in the food.”

“Not the point. You told me about Tarsian.”

"He wouldn't endanger his heirs." Evune picked up two of the chicken bones and pushed his arm through the bars, “Here.”

“No.” Marcella shook her head. “You need it more.”

Evune frowned before he tossed it in the cell and Marcella caught it. The last two weeks had been hard on him but intermittently Marcella would be taken in for questioning and return inconsolable, tucked in a dark corner. She and him had created an understanding.

She sighed and added, “The Proving is coming up.”

“Today if my count is correct.”

“Aren’t you worried?” Marcella asked.

“No.” Evune added before slurping up the soup on the platter.

Marcella snorted. “You haven’t trained. You’re pregnant with what looks like at least one Qunari or three elves.”

Evune froze at the words she said, the blades on his arms heating up. He breathed slowly. The heat on his arms disappearing. He continued to eat but much slower. “I’ve always been trapped. I’ve just moved from one cage to the next and to the next. And training? What do you think I’ve been dancing every day for.”

“All your plans are half-assed, aren’t they?”

“Oh that’s a given.” Evune grinned. “What’s not is if and when I kill Elvia if I get to witness the expression on her face.”

 

The jail entrance slammed open and instead of a priest, it was the Black Divine. He motioned his guards to leave and he walked up to Evune’s cell.

“Are you prepared?” the Black Divine said, his face ridged with age and ice.

“It depends. Are you?”

The Black Divine frowned. “I believe in morality and the rights created under the Maker. My niece and the Archon are undeserving. My decision is unchangeable.”

“Good.”

“Be wary, I still don’t know if you are.” He pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked his cell.

Evune pointed at Marcella’s cell. “Keep her safe. And delay as long as you can.”

“I won’t have a false verdict on my conscience or innocent children. You can trust that.”

Evune nodded firmly.

 

He had never known in all his sneaking around and hiding that the Black Divine would support his goals. At least the man was a person of pure morals and virtue. Tampering with the slave marks was not within his purview but the man was able to some poor mage willingly to do it for the good of the Chantry--no, he still didn't understand it. He wouldn't complain. Davan was safe now.

The brothers never sat in the same room or even in the same building now. They were at an impassed. Tarsian couldn't redo the mark without infuriating, in theory, the Black Divine and they couldn't tattle on Tarsian without getting punished as a clan member--the baby, or babies, included. He didn't like depending on the Black Divine. And as he pressed his hand on the cold stone walls of the spire, he walked down the hall uninhibited by guards or priests thinking about all the eyes he had on him, on them.

 At the end of the hall, Davan stood waiting by the entrance and carriage.

“Ready.”

“Are the Liberati stationed?”

Davan nodded.

“Good, let’s go.”

Davan gestured to help him in the carriage. Evune pointedly ignored the hand and pulled himself in. The Knight-Commander merely sighed and closed his empty hand before falling quick behind.

The Proving Grounds were built to mirror the ones built in the largest Dwarven cities and, just for special occasions, the glass would be blocked out to allow Dwarves to fight in a Proving that sat underground by a technicality.

Everyone was already seated in the stands. The fighters had their names pulled and set with an opposing one, including Evune, already. Davan directed him to the shower stalls and stood in front of the brick gates like a guard.

“You picked up the blue bottle. Upper shelf.” Evune said as he unbraided his hair and washed the film of stink from it. On the bare shelves nailed into the wall was a few of his fragrant bottles. He scrubbed his arms and carefully washed his upper body and stomach.

“Yes, I also got the oil for your skin.”

“Every time I wear the oil; I think of when we first met.” Evune searched through the shelf. “I don’t see it. You sure it’s here?”

“The first time? When you were crawling along those pipes?” Davan peaked around the corner with a grin.

Evune blinked. “You saw me.”

“White hair doesn’t exactly camouflage in the forest.” Davan added. He rifled around his pockets, patting his holding packs before pulling out a light blue flask. He uncorked the bottle and sniffed. “It is a rather clean smelling perfume. It almost smells of potion herbs.”

Evune gave a mirthless laugh before snatching it out his hand, dropping it to the nearest bench. He didn’t want to forget about it. “Leilani must have snuck out with it.” He saw the restricted glance of Davan’s, sliding over his bare body before pulling his eyes upward as he walked under the shower spout. The man was so aggravating with how careful, how hesitant he was about Evune but it was gratifying, for once, to have control back in his hands. Davan was willing to allow him to lead by his own choice. 

Evune closed his eyes and flipped the shower switch on. “My instincts told me there was something wrong. After a while, it starts to be no one to blame but me.” He lathered himself with soap and then let the water wash it all away. He couldn’t see the dirt of Tarsian fall from his skin but he felt it detach and free him. He felt clean.

Evune switched off the water. Davan walked in and put down his scabbard and sword. He sat on the bench in the foggy, damp room and motioned Evune to come near. Evune sat on his leg as he brushed through his hair with his fingers and Davan handed him the oil. Davan rubbed the skin oil between his fingers and began rubbing his sides, his back, and, far more carefully, his chest. He ignored the surge of arousal and the heat pooling in his nether regions. He breathed through his nose and finished braiding his hair into one large braid when Davan wrapped an arm around his underbelly. Lowly, he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Not if you keep doing that.” 

“Do you—

“I’m not going to ask you to.”

“But I would if you asked.”

Evune closed his eyes and the small spike of arousal spread. “Please.” He dropped his head back as Davan pulled his other arm around. He slicked his hand with more oil and began pushing his fingers in, pressing in deeper and deeper, twisting every once in a while. Evune opened his leg wider as Davan thrusted his fingers in more and more, adding another finger and another. Evune cried out and came, with his wet splattered on the shower floor. Davan hushed him and wrapped his arms around him. Evune felt his hardness twitch against his leg and let his fingers trail up his leg.

“Evune,” Davan warned.

“You’re not my master." He said. Fingertips brushed up and down his leg, and that heady spark of patience of _time_ allowed him to simply dictate the pace. "I’m not required to do any of this.” Evune leaned forward and kissed his lips, pulling away to kiss his lips again and again as his hand dropped against the twitching hardness in his pants. He tightened his palming and rubbed harder. His cock, trapped under the cloth, twitched and stretched against the pants. “In fact, if I dropped down and wrapped my lips around, flicking my tongue, well, it would just be my choice, wouldn't it?”

Davan groaned. “Kaffas.”

Evune leaned forward to his ear, “I’d even swallow you whole and lick from the tip to the root. Over and over until I could taste you fill my throat. I’ve always thought you would taste sweet.”

He shoved his hand down Davan’s pants and his cock twitched against the underclothes—curving upward. He moved his fingers upwards grazing his muscled stomach before he palmed his tip, rubbing the end before wrapping his fist around it. Davan’s forehead fell on Evune’s shoulder as his hips gave a trembling thrust. “Maker.”

“Hm, not quite.” Evune twisted his wrist and slid his hand up and down until it hardened, stretching to full length. Davan thrusted up.

“I’m sorry.”

Evune grinned. He leaned forward, coyly. “Sorry for leaking in my hands or getting hot while slicking me up.”

Davan shook his forehead against his shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

Evune sped up his hands, jerking it up and down, his cock slipping and smacking against his palms wetly. Davan’s hips slowed down and Evune dropped his mouth on his cock, sucking up every drop.

“You don’t owe me anything.” Davan breathed. He pulled Evune up. Evune closed his pants and tightened his belt, seeing letters written on it. “I’ve liked you already—you know that?”

Evune cocked his head. “DLV. Your initials?”

“Davan Lysandris Vesces.”

“Strong name.” Evune kissed the corner of his lips.

Davan loosened his grip and sighed. “Ready?”

Evune stood up and straightened his shoulders. “You got the armor.”

“Yes, but it’s only going to protect you from nicks and sharp cuts. If someone stabs—

“They won’t and I won’t let them.”

“I don’t like this.” Davan helped tighten the leather strap under his belly and the thin iron mail over his chest.

Evune returned, placating, “If I don’t, then we might as well give up. My life and everyone else’s will be in their hand.” He pulled up the leather armor skirt lined with bottles of explosives around his waist. Davan handed him the half-mask and Evune clamped it over his nose and mouth.

“It’s not safe.”

Evune pressed a kiss on his cheek. “We’ll never be if I don’t.”

Davan flushed red and rubbed his nose. “You look like one of those Avvar people.”

“Only fitting then.” Evune rolled his shoulders and tossed a look over them at Davan.

 

 

The banners of all the Dwarven noble castes and more than a few magister family crests flew along the stands as they were filled of every kind of Tevinter citizen. Evune rolled his shoulder and shook his legs.

It was now or never.

“Contestant Evunial, representing Archon Vesces, versus Freytag Aeducan in behalf of House Aeducan second line!”

Davan clapped his back and Evunial entered the ring. He raised his eyes and he could see the Ambassadoria council in the higher stands and the Archon with his consort beside them. He blew a kiss and entered the ring, staring up at the grainy glass windows above.

His opponent was a dwarven woman with her hair pulled back and silver pommel on her back.

“May the Ancestors bless us.” She bowed forward.

Evune smiled and bowed his head, “Like wise.”

He raised his hands to his side and exhaled, feeling the warmth of his veins push through him as he had practiced more than a few times. The blades peeled away from his arms and hovered above his skin like armor.

The crowd started screaming. Feet stomping and hands clapping, voices shrieking, Evune exhaled until the background noise sunk into muffled static.

Freytag growled and then lunged forward with her pommel in the air, swinging down. Evune recounted his step movements and lifted up his arm.

_Block. Slash. Twist._

The blades formed an eclipse, clicking together like a puzzle, and blocked the strike. The blades split and swung outward, knocking Freytag on the other side of the ring. He twisted his feet and regained his balance—losing a step. His center of gravity still not stable. Freytag winced and yanked her pommel up. Evune tensed when she slammed her pommel into the ring flooring and used it to propel herself straight at him. Evune swung his leg under him and the blades clicked again into a whip, snatching at her leg and spun her off course.

She lifted up a hand and then surrendered.

“The winner is Evunial on behalf of House Vesces and the Archon of Tevinter!”

Evune snatched the whip back and it sunk back into his arms. He walked over to Freytag and outstretched his hand. “Good fight.”

Freytag huffed. “Emrynek talks you up. We all thought that’s all it was. Nice fighting for an elf.” She took his hand and was pulled upright. She leaned forward. “We support any lengths that advance our trade. This non-mages turning to mages—

Evune smiled. “We can discuss this later but glad to get your support.”

Freytag laughed loudly.

 

The second and third battle were easy, comparatively speaking. A smoke grenade here and a false step there, tripping over the edge of the platform was an instant loss.

_One more._

  
“Contestant Evunial, representing Archon Vesces, versus Temson Yontop representing Clan Harrowmont!”

Temson was dressed in heavy armor with mosaic designs similar to the ones he’d seen in the underground city.  Instead of greeting him, he merely grunted and met him with a slight nod.  Temson pulled out two daggers from his back and then lunged.

Evune quickly brought up the blades as a shield but was shoved back and nearly brought to his knees before the dwarf jumped back.

“Don’t make it too easy. The ancestors will laugh on my grave!” Temson shouted. He swung his daggers and prepared to lunge again. The crowds started roaring and Evune couldn’t block their voices out.

Evune slid forward and threw out a flask, tightening his mask against his face. Thick green black smog filled the arena and he shifted his arms, swinging the blades like wind until it continued swinging around him like a barrier. The dwarf fell through the smog, coughing and smacked into the blade barrier. It knocked him to the ground but he leapt back up, striking his shoulder. A long line of blood dripped and Evune fell on his knee. His blades fell to the arena flooring like glass.

He started breathing heavily. Temson growled before rushing forward and throwing himself in the air and Evune could feel sweat dripping down his temple, the blood falling from his finger tips. He could feel the heat of the arena beneath him from the fighting and the smack of the blades. The warmth coursed up his body and he huffed through his nose before whipping the blades out like two scythes and smacking the same wrist gauntlet twice. Temson shouted as he crashed onto the arena floor cradling his wrist.

“I surrender!” Temson screamed. “I surrender!”

The crowd screamed and rice flew in the air.

_“A warrior to be jealous of. Your snoring is only an added attribute.”_

_I don’t snore._

_“Indeed. Still a warrior to admire nonetheless.”_

Evune ignored the flush of red on his cheeks. He stepped towards Temson but the dwarf glared over, “Don’t speak to me.”

Evune raised his hands and bowed forward. He had to admit, although Jed told him to be wary, he was becoming rather attached to Wolf. Sitting in a cell alone would do that.

He left the ring and Davan stood there waiting at the entrance still. He grinned at Davan. “I told you.”

“You could tell me every day and I’d still worry.” Davan already had an unwrapped bandage and began twisting it around Evune’s arm. “You’re lucky it wasn’t poisonous.”

Evune slowly nodded.

“You’ve gotten better control over the blades.” He twisted the bandage and then patted Evune’s arm.

Evune replied, “I was sitting in a cell all day. No choice.”

Davan held Evune’s face in his hands and kissed his cheek ignoring Evune’s pressed lips. “We should get ready for the meeting.”

Evune turned down the hall and it didn’t take long for them to bump into Elvia and Tarsian, dressed in their Imperial robes. Evune tilted his head with his hands clasped behind his back. Davan tensed up by his side—trying to avoid pulling out his sword, from what he could guess.

“Things seem to be going well for you.” Tarsian said, he held his arms in front of him, and kept his arms held together like a bridge, “You look well. I find it surprised you were able to make it with your _illness_.”

“Yes,” Elvia added, “I imagined a psychological disorder would’ve kept you down longer. We hadn’t even known you were released.”

Tarsian lifted a cold eye to his brother. “Or that we wouldn’t be notified.”

“I was instructed by the Black Divine to watch over Evune.” Davan bowed with a hand across his chest. “I figured you were made aware.”

Elvia frowned. “I find that unlikely. He wouldn’t—

Evune drew an expression of surprise. “Is there a problem?”

Elvia sneered and Tarsian iced a smile across his face. “You won’t stop this or us. There is a league of personal footmen on their way to send you away—permanently. And once the heir is born—”

“I doubt it.” Evune returned with a smile. “You see, the Liberati are betting their life on this, all of this, and I can _bet_ that your footmen will be very delayed.”

“You waste of—

Tarsian cleared his throat, interrupting Elvia’s hissing. The Archon added, “You will not endanger the present situation with the lowest Minrathous has to offer. Giving up is your only option.”

“Archon Vesces,” Evune furrowed his brows, “I’m only here to complete the trials. I care about my clan and my life. I’m not sure what I would be ‘giving’ anyone.”

Davan nudged Evune’s elbow and Evune tilted his head. “Perhaps we can continue speaking later?”

Tarsian answered, lowly, “Perhaps.”

Evune walked forward sensing Davan trailing behind him. He felt the eyes of them searing on his back until they turned the corner.

“Is the carriage ready?”

Davan nodded.

Evune rolled his neck and Davan pressed a gentle hand against his shoulders. The ache receded leaving only a light pressure. There was much more to do.

 

 

 

The Imperium Fora was the largest forum in Tevinter and the main meeting place of the Magisterium in Minrathous. Bridges stretched above and led to the upper level carved from metal and crystals. The lower level, like a built paradise of flowers and sleek stone, was carved in geometric shapes from the flowered gardens, the water fountains, and the flooring. Granite tiles and stairways stood out in the crystalline forum. Magisters of varying status from low, unknowables to respected, powerful clans were scrambling the pathways of the building. Altuses, several Laetans, and even a rogue soporati or two rushed through the pathways to watch the signing of this decade's Accords from the upper stands.

Gheeran huffed. “They caught Arnarel outside Marcella’s cell.” She turned to Evune and Davan as soon as they exited the carriage. The three of them swept around through to the first hall of forum.

“Tell me he had a dagger, poison, something,” Evune added.

Gheeran nodded. She turned to Davan. “Your soldier, ah, Anaxi said he was going to write up a report. But, it was pretty incriminating. I think he did it on purpose. Arnarel, that is.”

“Arnarel’s not stupid. He’s reminded me more than few times. He did well.” Evune said. “I’ll need my robes.”

Davan sighed. “The only ones we have is from when you were imprisoned.”

“I can clean them.” Gheeran piped in. “I’ll be able to temporarily sew them together but I wouldn’t try wearing it again afterwards. It’ll probably fall apart.”

“Good,” Evune said, as taking the long, winding staircase up. A few magisters strolling by whispered as they passed and even pointed. He tossed a brief wave and small smile. “Did Leilani get the ribbon?”

Davan raised a brow. “She did, but I thought she was mistaken.”

“Make sure to bring it with the robe. I’m going to need a belt, I think.”

 

The Assembly room was four times larger than the one in Vyrantium and citizens were only able to watch through the barriers lifted around the magisters’ seating. The dwarven delegates side of the assembly sat encroached under stone and rock hooking down the sides of the building to the ground. It was how the dwarven nobles prevented themselves from seeing the sky and losing their caste. Outside of the barrier, citizens, both Liberati, Laetan, and the heirs of magisters sat down with their crests floating on a flag by their seating. The lower seats without banners were open to all and everyone which was where he would be sitting. His robe trailing on the floor behind him he waited for the Black Divine’s signal--very forward and obvious statement. Davan entered shortly after him taking his place against the wall behind the Black Divine.

He felt pressure in his throat and couldn’t tell whether the nausea was from the situation or because of the bodily chemicals. He tapped a finger against the ribbon around his waist, feeling its rough cotton texture—something he missed in the luxurious softness of Tevinter—and clasped his hands in front of him as he sat.

The Black Divine sat down at the raised podium, the only one at equal height beside the Archon. To Black Divine’s side sat the grand clerics at slightly lower levels and to the Archon’s side was the main clans:  Thalrassian, Varas, Amladaris, Antonidas, Porenni, and, of course, Valens. For Valens, Elvia couldn’t represent her clan but her apparent older brother, Danarius, was just as slippery. The Ambassadoria delegates had their own raised seating completing the circle of the assembly.

Nanterius had been able to represent Vyrantium with Kellis representing his clan for the first time in centuries but as an apprentice of Nanterius, sitting behind her.  Kellis wore his magister robes like a child wore their parents’ clothing. His eyes jumped around the other members before seeing Evune sitting at the stands. He gave a wave that Evune tilted a nod towards when the Black Divine held his mallet and struck the podium. “We’re here today to sign the Lyrium Accords.” The Black Divine started, “Are there any questions?”

One of the dwarves cleared his throat, “I heard there are requests for addendums to the contract. We would like them listed out.”

The Black Divine flipped out a paper and then began reading aloud, “The first addendum is that lyrium mining that was once shared between the Thalrassians, Antonidas, and the Valens will now be operated mainly by the Valens for Imperial prosperity. Secondly, Ambassadoria delegates will choose representatives to meet with our medical professionals to test the lyrium resistance of the dwarves through the casteless,” The Black Divine pursed his lips but made no comment. “Thirdly, Liberati will be restricted from becoming Laetans without the authority of a unanimous decision by its city’s Magisterium praetors. Fourth, efforts between the Dwarven Empire and the Tevinter Imperium will team together in finding the “Hand of Thoth” through mutual disclosures, resources, and investigation.”

The Black Divine drew a gaze around the assembly.

Many eyes fell on Adalric Tharassions under the expectation that the heavyset balding man would argue against the obvious attack. The clan had supported many lesser sponsored and ignored projects that the dwarves requested but not even an ambassador spoke up. Adalric stared unblinkingly at the center tiles of the assembly room as if in a daze. Evune imagined that he would feel betrayed and would likewise have nothing to say. Elvia was right in some ways. Betrayal only happened to those who didn't expect it to happen eventually.

“Any questions?” The Black Divine finished.

Evune exhaled sharply. _This is where it starts._ He looked out his peripheral and could see Elvia with her “friends” in a booth at a higher seating closed off by velvet and banners. Nanterius’ chair squealed on the floor as she stood up. The eyes of the Magisterium and the citizens veered on her.  “I have a question in regards to the addendums.”

The Black Divine waved his hand. “Please, ask them.”

“I believe these addendums will set a dangerous precedent to our citizens,” Nanterius said. “As of recently, Vyrantium has had a string of disappearances. These disappearances—”

Mencius Varas, a tall man, like a pole with a small nose and large eyes, said, “None of us are aware how this relates.”

“I must admit,” Zaldereon Antonidas asked, “I’m interested to hear as well.” 

“It doesn’t. This is why—

“We will listen to all questions as they are all equally valid.” The Black Divine interrupted. He motioned his hand to Nanterius. “Speak.”

Nanterius bowed her head respectfully.

“A good friend of mine was kidnapped by these people. He is an elf, a slave, actually, but very clever. As someone unused to Tevinter, he told—

“If you’re talking about who I think,” Varas barked, “then you can stop there. Slaves will say whatever they can to be free. And we’ve _heard_ the rumors about this slave.”

Evune steeled himself against the insult shared among the Magisterium and among the citizens. He should’ve been mindfully aware that his actions would be spoken by word of mouth if not gossip. Kellis tossed an apologetic gaze.

“Mencius,” The Black Divine said, and all eyes turned to him, as his voice spoke in equal measures, “we respect all of our people because Tevinter is built off the backs of our citizens. Even the lowest of slaves provide a purpose, would you like to clean the rotted remnants of our sewage?”

Mencius gritted his teeth. “No.”

“And we respect those who do the jobs we don’t want.” The Black Divine sighed. “If Magister Nanterius is interrupted one more time, we will remove the interrupter. Understood?”

The members of the assembly burred in agreement.

Archon Vesces steepled his hands and covered the assembly with a stony gaze. Evune wondered if Tarsian regrets betraying him at all. He doubted it but he lessons were always taught best under pressure. Under pain. No, his children's father or not, the man would suffer for staging his parent's death.

“He found out that they were taking elves, dwarfs, and even humans—they were nearly all Liberati.”

The Magisters whispered and talked amongst themselves.

“Do you have proof?” The Black Divine stated.

“Yes.”

At this point, even the citizens in the stands were discussing the situation. Most of them hadn’t even been aware. He could hear the whispers discussing that it didn’t matter while others argued.

Deshanna led in three of the survivors—one of which was a dwarf. They entered the assembly and stood in front of them. Each of them were questioned with lowered, demure heads. When they walked out, the Black Divine sighed.

“This is troublesome.”

“There is more, your holiness,” Nanterius added, “The Magisterium has requested resources from us and we cannot afford to lower our security in such times until the perpetrators are found. So, as Vyrantium’s Praetor, I cannot sign the accords as is.”

The magisters in the assembly threw themselves into shouting and arguing, tossing insults as Nanterius as she sat down and crossed her hands.

“Silence!” The Black Divine shouted. The assembly quieted but whispers still continued. But, the citizens watching were dead silent.

Danarius Valens spoke first, “This contract is a traditional staple of the peace between our two societies. These are issues we can fix through due diligence but to delay the signing. . .”

Varas shouted, “I agree. This is nearly sacrilegious.”

“Shut your face you twinkling stick.” One of the Ambassadoria delegates slammed a fist on his table. “One of our own has effectively been cast out because of your negligence and you want to ignore it _and_ ask for our help. This isn’t just _your_ people anymore.”

Archon Vesces interrupted, with a placating smile, “We take the security of our citizens seriously, but we can’t premeditate danger.”

The delegate hissed, “Your people can’t even keep your own in check.”

The Archon gritted his teeth.

“Did you think it wouldn’t come up? You Tevinters come into our home and accuse our own miners of criminal behavior only to jail the vandal yourself!” The delegate stood up and shouted.

“Yes, well, that same slave is the one our Magister Nanterius is referring to.” The Archon finished, his voice tight. “There is no actual proof. Those survivors have suffered an ordeal but only three? I don’t believe it.”

Evune scoffed. He should’ve known what Tarsian really thought. He hated the underbelly of Tevinter but it was teaching him a good lesson.

_“The lesson that greed and envy will cause disillusionment.”_

_No, that things are always two-ways. Where things are good, they can also be awful elsewhere. That distinction is what I've learned._ He stood up and clasped his hands. The delegates shared looks. One of the other dwarven delegates leaned forward.

“You mean the one who saved these survivors started their own investigation. And you. . .jailed him.”

The magisters, excluding Nanterius, fidgeted and shared their own lowered glances. Evune could hear the citizens discussing “How could this happen without their knowledge?” and “Why did they not do anything?” It would be the same question the delegates would ask. Evune lifted his robe sleeve and covered his smile with it. Nanterius tossed him a gaze and a nod.

 “I heard rumors among the casteless that this _elf_ was cornered off into a bar—one of your own working with the Carta, no less, smuggling lyrium.” Another dwarf said, although speculative and questioning, “But this has to be rumor?”

Another dwarf turned to him, “I heard the same thing actually.”

“I heard it too by some of the warrior castes. I heard he wasn’t a casteless at all. Or a surfacer but a smith!”

“May I interject?”  Magister Antonidas raised a hand.

The Black Divine nodded. “Carry on.”

Antonidas turned to the Archon. “My lord, this slave is a member of the Hole, is he not?”

The Archon answered, “Yes, he is.”

“How well has he faired?” Antonidas questioned.

Before the Archon could answer, one of the dwarves asked, “Is it possible for the slave to present themselves?”

The dwarves nodded their head in agreement unaware of the seething glare of the Archon veered to the citizen’s seating. Evune followed his gaze to the upward stands until it landed. . .on Elvia.

And Elvia looked furious. She snapped up, her feet gliding down the backway steps until she disappeared.

The Black Divine stood up. He shouted, “If slave Evunial formerly of Seheron is here, show yourself.”

 

 


	19. Chapter  Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Much. Porn. Why? Most of it is plot, I swear but I made my characters too hot *pout*.

 

 

 

 

He snapped his robe around his body and stepped forward, minutely aware of every gaze, every comment, and every pointed finger as he entered the Assembly room of the Magisterium. The eyes of the Magisterium bared down on him and he, in turn, bowed his head.

“You are the slave named Evunial.”

Evune stood at the center with his hands clasped. “Yes.”

“We have several questions.” The Black Divine shared looks with the assembly members.  “You saved those survivors and told Magister Nanterius that you were kidnapped. But, most of the kidnapped individuals were Liberati.”

Evune agreed. “Yes.”

“So,” the Black Divine said, “Why would they kidnap you? Even the dwarf communicated with casteless, the mistake would’ve been easy. But not for you. You were a known Hole member.”

“I was told,” Evune said, he raised his eyes, “that my blood did not mix with lyrium and that it could not be mixed with it.”

The dwarves began whispering amongst themselves before one of them spoke, “This sounds much like dwarves’ natural immunity.”

“This is what I was told.”

“But,” Archon Vesces said, “how did they know? How did they know to take _you_?”

Evune could’ve told the truth. His doubts, his unvoiced questions, and when his eyes met Tarsian, he felt certain.

“I don’t know.” Evune started.  He could hear the scoffs of the magisters and sudden quiet of the Ambassadoria delegates. He continued, "It may have been what happened with the blood mage before my arrival here."

The dwarven delegates shared a look. One of them said, "Explain!"

Evune tensed, remembering Davan's advice then. He couldn't help but wonder if those were his words or Tarsian's. He said, "A blood mage tried to use my blood to power a spell. It ended up killing him."

Instead of uproarious complaints and conversations, the room went silent again. The magisters and the delegates shared looks between them. It seemed he had dumbfounded them with this.

"Blood mages can't use your blood."

"Yes." Evune answered.

Another voice, a magister this time, said, "And your blood is resistant to lyrium."

Evune repeated. "Yes."

They fell silent again. Evune understood that they were confused but why were they so disquieted? 

“Excuse me.” Antonidas cleared his throat. “May I ask you a personal question?”

Evune replied lightly, “It’s why I’m here.”

Antonidas tossed a look at the other magisters and then gestured towards Evune. “Are you pregnant?”

Evune bit his lip and clasped his hands, tightly. His robe, although black, distended in the front. In other circumstances, he would’ve proudly showed it off. In another life, he believed. He wasn't going to use them for this and resisted the urge to lessen the pressure weighing down on his hips. “I—Yes, I am.”

The dwarves started arguing with each other while the magisters shared looks.

“Is he truly even pregnant? Even male elves don’t carry children.”

“This is true.”

“I agree.”

Varas snorted and slapped his hand on the table. “If you are, then show us.”

Evune had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. In front of nearly all of Tevinter, this is what he was reduced to. He untied the ribbon and with trembling hands began to open his robe. He started to open his robes when a hand clenched over his own. His eyes flew open and he met the eyes of Antonidas.

Antonidas tightened his hand. “I request that we shade out the barrier. Only us should have to see proof.”

The Black Divine agreed. “Templars, if you could.”

The armored men close to the entrance and exit of the assembly tossed out their hands. The barrier turned a cloudy white. Nothing could be seen through it. Antonidas let go and then backed away. Evune dropped the robe to the floor and held his hand to his side. His belly, rounded and sticking out, sat over his hip.

“Whose is it?” Antonidas asked.

“Mine,” Evune said humorlessly, awkwardly, he did not know where to place his hand, “Clearly.”

Antonidas sighed. He rubbed his face. “The other parent of that child is—

“It’s rather unnecessary, isn’t it?” Evune added. He returned to his clasped hands. “And I would rather not go through this in front of all of Tevinter and the citizens.”

“Are you suggesting that the father is already in this room?”

For once, the whole room and all the citizens behind the barrier were silent.

“I—I’m not saying either.”

“If one had to guess,” Magister Thalrassian rubbed his beard, “I would say the situation calls for suspicion in the upper court. Someone, likely one of us, wanted this slave killed or _used_  for more than one reason.”

"Yes, we know how popular it is among  _some_ mages to test with lyrium on slaves." Nanterius said pointedly. A few gazes drew up on Danarius Valens, who seethed in silence at his spot.

Evune winced and then sat on the flooring, with his legs underneath. Antonidas, watching him struggle, helped him lower to the ground. More than a few more uncomfortable looks made their way on to Archon Vesces who sat silent and made no comment.

At this he heard Davan step up beside the Black Divine and whisper in his ear. The Black Divine spoke up, “I have just been made aware that the jailed traitor, a former member of the Hole, was almost assassinated if not for the Templars guarding her cell.”

“The one the Consort formerly supported?”

“Marcella of Clan Stollo. Wasn’t her uncle hoarding information to our neighbors?”

The whispering and talking amongst them only buzzed and intermingled until the words were indiscernible.

“I think,” Magister Thalrassian raised his voice loud enough to be heard, “that the Valens have the most to gain in every way. I suggest a recess to remand these addendums.”

The Black Divine nodded, “I agree. These contracts will be delayed until addendums can be approved or changed. There will also be an investigation into the happenings of this circumstance and the main purveyor of such.” He struck his mallet on the desk.

 _“Check. You’ve gotten better.”_ The voice muttered in his ear. _“That woman won’t recover easily, neither will this Tevinter King.”_

Evune frowned. Nanterius had gotten one over him again. He hadn't wanted his children to be a bargaining chip. In his inattention, his robe lifted over his shoulders and the ribbon wrapped around his waist. Antonidas patted his shoulder. “Know that you have the transparent support of Clan Antonidas. Well done.” He pulled away and exited the assembly.

_“You seem to attract the honorable. My jealousy is far more than warranted.”_

_If you were real, that would mean more than you think._ Evune grinned.

_“I **am** real.”_

_Then show your face._

_“You know I cannot, ma vhenan. Not now.”_

"Nanterius." Evune stepped in front of her gesturing towards a friendly hug. 

"Evunial." She replied. Her voice even and she carried the hug while lowering her voice. "You know it had to be done. Your friend's announcement was  _late_."

"I almost had to be bare in front of the whole Imperium," Evune whispered angrily. "It wasn't up to you."

"I'm your mentor for a reason. I won't coddle you." Her arms lifted away and she turned without an exit glance. He wanted to be angrier but she was right. Would they have won without that? No. But next time he would have his own contingency plan. He wouldn't be used like that  _ever_ again.

The Ambassadoria delegates took their underground exit back to the city as all the magisters and grand clerics vacated leaving Archon Vesces with his steepled fingers.

“Why?” 

He had nearly left the room, but the sound of the other man's voice pulled him back around. It was not the voice of an apologetic man but of a confused one. "Because," The word lingered waiting to be spoken and they waited for him to steal it, to breathe it. "I knew who you were. You soldered and broke things to fix them. I wanted you to fix me." The words broke out stealing his air and his throat clenched.

"Then, why?" The fury was palpable upon his cold, steely face. His purple eye like the dying horizon. 

"You're a monster." 

Tarsian laughed. His shoulders relaxed and his whole posture was careless. He pushed away from the raised platform. “We’re all monsters. You’ll reach it in time as you climb.” He regarded him for a moment and then let one more laugh escape before leaving. The whole thing rather discomfited him. 

_“His warning is not unwarranted. I had friends, once, who only wanted the best. Sometimes, the painting of destruction is brushed with the paint of sincerity and good intentions.”_

Somber memories knotted into a rope that unraveled like a whiplash. The feelings disappeared.  _Are you--?_

_“No.”_

Wolf went silent afterwards.

Davan appeared around the audience seating and his eyes fell on Evune's. He wondered if his relief was mirrored in him? “Arnarel’s hex will be removed. The Black Divine already has people working on him."

"And you?"

If one could become a shapeless, pitiable ball of feeling, Davan guilty replicated such a look dressed in armor and sword. "As much as possible."

"Good."

Davan tightened his hand to his side and his arms tensed when the doors leading to the Magisterium halls and the Ambassadoria's delegates main entrance opened. Heels tapped towards them and three guards poured into the chambers. Elvia stood there, dressed down in traveling clothes. “You’re like a mouse, you know that? Scurrying around in search of cheese and so excited to get a bite.”

“You lost.” Evune answered and pasted a small forced smile, “It would be best if you left and recuperated.”

Elvia laughed. “The Valens own half of Tevinter. You think because you won _one_ meeting, you’ve won the Magisterium. Dear child, no. You've only pushed Tarsian into a corner.” She shook her head mockingly as she strode forward and Davan motioned to pull out his sword. Evune blocked his hand and whispered lowly, “No, I’ll handle it.”

She stood mere inches in front of Evune, their face breadths apart.“Being Consort was pure torture for me. I had waited years for someone to come along stupid enough to fall for the Archon’s charm like I did. My research on the other hand,” Elvia trailed off before moving away back towards the entrance, “I’ll need test subjects and after closing down our mines in response to the failed addendums, well, there will surely be enough to scoop out from the streets. They can even all come to thank you for that. Elves. . .so predictable with your righteous fights.”

The door slammed closed behind her. Evune pressed a shaky hand to his temple.

What did he do?

 

* * *

 

 

 

The safest place for him, especially now that Elvia had told him what she was going to do, was at the Liberati settlement camp.  Oran opened the door and a room carved out of stone stood in front of him. He had grown a small goatee across his jaw and chin, pulling his hair back into a short half-ponytail. He looked grown. Evune wondered if he was to blame for that.

“I know it’s not a manor or palace, or, whatever, but it’s comfortable and its got a restroom.” Oran scratched his head.

“Did you find Jed new quarters?”

“Easier than most, he would’ve taken a small closet.” Oran said and then backtracked at Evune’s raised brow. “Even though I didn’t. Yeah--I can send him a message, tomorrow?”

Evune shook his head, smiling before it fell off his face. “There’s still more to do. We’re going to have to give the Casteless and the Liberati curfews. They’ll need to travel in groups and—

Oran clasped his shoulders, jarring him out of his thoughts. “Today, you won. The rest can come tomorrow. You’ll need your rest."  Oran walked inside and tucked his hands under his arms.

“What about the closed mines?” Evune walked into the room and gazed at the mosaic flooring and ridged walls to fall on Oran’s straightened shoulders, his muscled forearm with thin hair along it. “Your people are going to need jobs and I’ve cut them out of it. We have to figure out where to position them. They need stability.”

_“You are attracted to him.”_

_Who used him in my dream again?_

_“Point made. Yet, how appreciative would you have been with a disembodied head?”_

_I’m not going to answer that._

Oran brushed a hand through his hair and crossed his arms. “I hated what you said before."

Evune blinked. He could think of a hundred things Oran didn't like about what he's said or how he's said things.

"You told me to lead. Reminded me that . . .I would be failing my people if I did nothing. And then I saw you confront the Magisterium today, for us."

Evune countered. "To be fair, also for me."

"You don't have to be fair. They don't deserve--they can't offer you. . ." Oran trailed off.

Evune cocked his head.

“You’re going to burn yourself out if you don't learn to offer yourself leniency. We’re going to need you to not feel hopeless.” Oran finished. His eyes raised to his only to jump back at the dwarven structures attached to the wall. "To know when you've done well."

Evune closed the door behind him. “I don’t know if I seem that way. I'm certainly more tired and I’m not covering it as well as I hoped but it doesn’t matter. I can’t rest yet there’s—

“You’re beautiful. Anyone who says different is a liar.” Oran cleared his throat.

Evune mouth fell open and Oran continued, “Unless you didn’t mean it like that which now this is--this is really awkward, isn't it? You can pretend I said nothing.”

Evune shook his head quickly. Oran was just being kind. He knew how he looked and the rumors about him flooded Minrathous for these several days. He was well-known as the trickster, the deceiver, and now he had manipulated the Archon so that he could carry his heirs. Great. “I didn’t beat her. When you hated me the first day we met, it was valid. I'm always telling people what to do and what I'm going to do. I think a plan is fool-proof and then it's not. The whole Davan Debacle ring any bells.” He pressed his hands against his eyes. “Everyone is going to pay for it this time. Not me. Other people are going to die.”

“A little. Maybe.” Oran added, he carefully pulled Evune’s hands from his eyes. “I also noticed that when I finally _looked_ at you that you meant what you said. People are inherently selfish, greedy, hungry, and mean here. But you, like a fireball, hurtling out here to burn it away. You making things new. You offer me chances to prove myself. You believe that even _I_ of all people can lead."  He rubbed his thumb over Evune’s fingers.

 "To be a leader is in your personality. To do good is all you need."

"And am I doing good?"

Evune pulled a delicate finger up Oran’s chest drawing him in for a kiss. His tongue teased and pressed against Oran’s. He wrapped both his arms around his neck as Oran dropped his hands to his ass, kneading it in his hands back and forth. Evune said against his lips, grazing his as he spoke, “My body doesn’t bother you.”

"We dwarven men like a little more meat. Halfas aren't excluded." Oran teased before trailing kisses along Evune’s ears and Evune groaned as he licked the tip and then came down to his lips. They kept their lips pressed as Evune let Oran’s pants drop, ripping his shirt off before Oran grabbed Evune’s ass, pressing his covered hardness forward. Black mosaic tattoos stretched across his back and half of Oran’s chest, the marks of the Carta. The tip of Oran’s cock peaked out from the top of his underclothes, trailing wet along Evune’s waist.  Evune dropped his hand, squeezing his sack, feeling it throb in his fist. He rolled it over his palm and rubbed his fingers from his sack to his thick, large tip, already drooling with cum, dampening through. Oran breathed in his ear, panting as Evune tightened his grip through the cotton, thrusting into the hold, and nuzzling his lips along Evune’s before pressing his tongue in again. Evune felt him groan against his ear as he tightened his hold before pushing Oran on the bed, falling backwards. He unhooked his robes and then whispered in his ear. “Lift your leg.”

Oran pushed up his underclothes and Evune swung around his leg, his belly against Oran’s leg as he lifted his ass. Oran cupped his ass cheeks and lowered him on his cock. His tip, pink, bulbous and wet, pressed through his hole with resistance. Oran pressed a finger, wiggling inside and thrusting, loosening his hole before pressing in deeper. Finally, his tip fell through the ring and Evune could feel Oran’s cock ridges twitch. He pressed forward and held his arm against his leg before lifting up and thrusting down. Oran groaned. “Kaffas . . .”

“God, your cock is too long, too hard.” Evune whimpered. He felt Oran’s cock lengthen and then bend as if moving his insides until it filled up feeling like steel. He bounced up and down, feeling the slickness help him thrust in and out.  Oran rubbed his nipples, pulling Evune splayed parallel above him. Evune hadn’t known how sensitive his chest had become until Oran started pressing harder, flicking his nipples. He moaned louder slamming his ass up and down as fast as he could. He felt Oran stutter as he tightened around his cock, preparing to climax and Evune dropped his fist to Oran’s sack, holding it tight. He turned around, holding tight against his cock still, watching Oran’s silent moan before he slid his arm on both sides of Oran, breathing heavily. “You still with me.”

Oran groaned but only nodded before dropping his head back. Evune pressed a grin against his cheek. “No worries, you’ll get to release.” He slammed his waist down, his ass swallowing Oran whole. He thrust up and down, sliding up and down, gripping Oran’s chest while Oran wrapped his hands around his waist. Evune pounded his ass down, rolling back and forth, twisting and rotating before slowing down to an excruciatingly slow pace. He rolled his hips back and Oran clutched, grappled for his back and ass until he finally cried out releasing for what felt like forever. It dripped down, pooling beneath. They slid on their side and Oran tried not to whine when Evune pulled off

He covered it up and dropped his head to face Evune. “You alright?”

“I would be better if you moved closer.”

Oran nuzzled at his neck, pressing kisses. “You know, I heard you—at the Forum, two weeks ago.”  Oran moved his arms around him. “I realize I could get to know you more--better. Ancestor’s tits, you don’t even know me that well. I could tell you that I like flatcakes and fish gruel. . .

Evune scrunched his nose.

"And that I know you hate it." Evune hid his grin behind Oran's chin as he continued, “Or that I have a fear of the darkness. My mother left me in the deep roads when I was a baby and I was raised by a small group of legionnaires for a time. In the end, I had to lead myself out. Alone.”

“Carta?”

Oran smiled. “More honorable. Just as forgotten. The rule down here is that I would be the caste of my father and he wasn’t—humans can’t have castes. Those people above are wrong. You’re not a whore.”

Evune knew that Oran was only comforting him. It was gratification that he had not felt in many years. His parents allowed the rigidity of his mistakes to temper him not knowing that it would also frighten him. It made him believe there were only two choices. To succeed or to fail. "I may have done it for my clan, but it is still my mistakes. You can't apologize for how I've wronged."

“Insults like ‘whore’ are beneath you.” Oran pressed his lips against Evune’s and then rolled back to his place on the bed. 

Evune snapped his mouth shut. And then he spoke, knowing that it would be stupid. "I was told that I was special by my clan. They had such high hopes for me. My ancestors' writings tell me that it is the truth, but when I find us written in history." Evune broke off. His voice shaky. "They tell me that they were monsters. They were killers. I fear that it is no coincidence that my clan is dead. Or those of the experiments are dead."

"Then, we'll prove destiny wrong." Oran rolled him into his arms and Evune exhaled heavily.

 

 

* * *

 

When he awoke the next morning, Oran was still in bed with him with his arms keeping him warm like a woolen blanket and his chest a solidness against his back. It struck him that this was the first night he hadn’t slept alone. The thought was distinct and stinging like the frost of colder seasons. Tarsian had always left him alone. His intent was never to keep and why should he? Evune was his property. He twisted around still in Oran’s arms before dragging his fingers up and down Oran’s chest. Oran opened his eyes and Evune leaned forward and kissed his lips. “I want to taste you.”

Oran swallowed. “I—Yeah, I mean, yes. As long as you want to?”

“I do.” Evune licked his lips before gripping his cock and sliding his hand up and down, slowly, leisurely. Oran rocked into his grip. There was something about the way Oran’s cock drooled cum at one touch and how thickly round his tip was compared to the rest of it. He couldn’t help but take a taste. He started licking his tip, swirling his tongue and pressing in, tasting its softness thicken. Oran’s cock started leaking, as expected, and Evune lapped up, sweeping his tongue up and around it. He swallowed only his tip, flipping his tongue around it and sliding around his length until reaching to the root. His hand kneading his sack as it filled up. Evune swallowed again and his throat tightened against his cock. He watched Oran squirm and he closed his eyes as Oran thrusted his cock in and out. He felt Oran brush his fingers along his lips and moan above him.

Unseen hands grasped at his hips.

_Wolf. God._

Wolf’s cock laid flat above his ass heavy like a book and limp. The hands slid up and down his chest to his hips.

 _“You are becoming greedy. Begging for so many compliments and torturing the poor boy.”_ His fingers tapped against Evune’s hip in measured counts as his cock twitched on his back.

Evune swallowed harshly and tightened his lips until Oran’s cock squeezed between. Wolf’s cock thickened and straightened out, twitching against his back and leaving a trail of dribbling cum. _“Would you rather be punished?”_

_So jealous_

_“I would say possessive. A wolf likes to mark their territory.”_ Wolf leaned over his back, nipping and biting his neck.

 Oran dropped his arm over his eyes as he tried thrusting into his mouth faster but to no avail. Evune only tightened his hold on his sack letting Oran thrust through his ringed hand as an extra obstacle.  Wolf pulled away, his cock sliding off his back and across his ass crease.

Evune pulled up and twisted his hand around the base before swallowing it whole again, when Wolf pressed in his cock with the whole length stretching inside with what felt like an eternity. His root smacked into Evune’s ass and he shoved Oran’s cock deeper into his throat until his sack touched his lips, swallowing every drop, sucking over and over again until cum filled his mouth, overflowing and dripping. Evune wiped it with the back of his palm. Oran trembled and laid flat against the bed breathing heavily. Evune’s head fell forward on Oran’s hips as Wolf thrusted his cock all in at once pulling against the edges of Evune’s ass. Oran pulled Evune up, slipping Wolf’s cock slowly out from his ass like pure torture, and started kissing, twirling his tongue in Evune’s mouth and tasting himself in it. Wolf’s thrusts were calm and unhurried this time as if he had all day to shove his cock. Each thrust hitting the perfect spot, Evune felt heated and warm, hazy. Evune whined, grappling for Oran’s shoulders after each thrust.

_Asshole._

Wolf rammed in a full thrust before slowly pulling out. Evune moaned.

“I want to keep others from stopping you, you know.” Oran added dropping his hand on Evune’s ass, spreading it open, rolling it under his hands. “Protect you against the Magisterium, against the Archon.”

Oran did not know how pissed off those words made him. Fury, like Mythal's vengeance, simmered under his skin for days, months even. He was a  _warrior._ Who gave himself a name. Who created a path for himself in a new world. He who was supposed to be lesser by the points of his ears and the title forced upon him.

Wolf pulled out and pressed in again. Evune groaned again, pressing back against his cock. He realized he hadn’t even taken the full length of his cock until he pressed back deeper and deeper as Wolf pushed in. His ass finally met Wolf’s hip and Evune closed his eyes.

_“There is more beauty in your soul than there is a fraction of in the whole of the Magisterium.”_

_Say it outside of your cock in my ass and I’ll believe you._

Wolf caressed his chest and thrusted in one more time before releasing, the wet dripping from his ass and his heavy cock dragging out. He pulled off from Oran and entered the bathroom, lax but still furious. He turned on the shower system and wet his hair. When Oran entered, he leaned against the doorway.

“The Archon is an idiot if that’s what this is about.”

"It's not."

"Is it me?"

"Oran, we'll have to trust each other in the coming days, but," Evune tilted his head as if to reprimand Oran, “I am on my own here. Everything I have and have lost is because of him.” He shook his head flicking the droplets of water in the air. “There are things that are mine. My faults. My mistakes."

"I get it."

Evune turned to him. “Do you?"

“I liked last night. It was fun. I would like more in time. Is that too much?"

Evune laughed. “Maybe."

“We'll take our time."

Evune caught Oran’s distant expression and pulled him forward into the shower. The water fell over them, covering them until they were soaked. He faced the wall and lifted his braid over his shoulder giving Oran "the okay". He pressed his back against the wall when Oran lifted him up and squeezed inside him. Evune wrapped his legs tight around him. Loose and wet, Oran slipped in and started thrusting from tip to root, rocking in and out not even for the sake of pleasure but closeness, the heat between them. Evune slid up and down the shower wall, feeling the press inside as he pulled him up. Evune could feel Oran’s heart beat against his hand as he kissed Evune’s neck and then the tips of his ears. He caressed Evune’s back. 

Evune breathed out, “You just like being inside me.”

“An advantage for sure,” Oran said and trailed kisses from his cheeks to his ears. “But, I rather like someone who can slide the blade out from my fingertips as easy as you do." He gripped Evune’s ass and squeezed it as he slid in and out again.

Evune groaned. “Get the oil.”

Oran reached over to the shelf beside them and pulled out the bottle.

 Evune gasped as Oran rubbed it along his collar, his nipples, and stomach. It was becoming an instinctual response to the oil each time the smell of lavender fell over him. Evune bounced up on his cock when he thrust two fingers in, twisting inside and stretching Evune alongside it. Oran released in three sharp thrusts before groaning against his shoulder and Evune sighed. Oran grinned against his cheek and he couldn’t help but mirror it.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Evune exited the bathroom and found Davan pacing his bedroom. A bag of his clothing sitting on the bed. He was mid-braiding his hair when he asked Davan, “What’s got you so nervous?”

“Tarsian released Arnarel from his services.” Davan dropped a tray of bread and freshly braised nug loins.

Evune blinked. “Good. We wanted this.”

“He plans to meet with Deshanna at Vyrantium but he’s being careful right now. He released him in the middle of the night and was already attacked twice. We’re got to—

Oran stepped out from the shower with a towel wrapped around him before going around the room picking up his clothes before walking over to Evune, kissing his cheek, and leaving.

Evune added, “We’ve got meet up and plan before that. A list of requests. I’ll ask Oran to send some Liberati to help in the meantime.”

“You and Oran?” Davan asked. His eyes still at the door’s location. Evune leaned forward and pulled a piece of bread off the tray. He was starving.

“Kind of. It was nice and fun. Probably won’t happen again.” Evune said. He wanted to believe the words he heard. Simple, easy words and compliments were enough at one point.

Davan turned around. “Not everyone is like my brother.”

Evune’s hands twitched before stabbing and eating a cut piece of nug loin. He cleared his throat and continued flipping through the clothes bag. “That’s not why.”

Davan tossed a scrutinizing stare.

“Davan,” Evune turned to him, “I like you. I do, but I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of having someone _have_ me completely or that they even could. If you don’t—

Davan moved the tray beside the cloth bag and raised another nug loin to Evune’s mouth. The elf rolled his eyes before taking the bite. “I know that we’ve had troubles and we’ve stuck through it together. Everything else. . . the physical things matter but not much. Templars are taught to control their base urges and I'm fine with this.”

“Base?” Evune said while chewing and Davan gave him another slice before pushing the now empty tray back on the end table.

“Quiet you.” Davan retorted.

“Things should still be fair between us. Equal. You can't give me more control all the time.” He said while waving a piece of bread around, taking bites until it disappeared before tossing another robe stuffed in the bag on the floor. “Nanterius told me about your issues.” Evune said, he dropped the clothes altogether and hooked his arm with Davan. He hated Tevinter clothing. Gray and black, just like the weather. It was maddening.  “She said the Magisterium might make you take up a spouse, preferably a Varas or even a widowed non-blood Valens to even out the delayed accords.”

“I’m not ready to have heirs.”

“I know.” Evune grinned. “So, let me have your baby.”

Davan said flabbergasted, “What?”

“You don’t have to answer now. But, one day, I’ll ask again.” Evune said before pulling away to reach over on his bed for another robe out from his bag. It was better than the previous tacky orange and yellow trimmed. He bent forward digging through the bag and pulled up a robe to wrap around his shoulder—it reminded him of his father’s old hunter tunics.

“But, you’re my brother’s—

“Davan,” Evune cut in, “I won’t be owned by anyone. Maybe on paper. Perhaps even in promises, but I will be owned, leashed by no one but myself. Why do you think I’m doing all this?” The robe slipped open off his hip and Davan leaned a hand across his leg, to lift it up, and then snatched his hand back. Evune cocked his head and pulled his hand to cup his ass cheek—he watched it shake in his hand. Davan’s eyes stood still and frozen.

_“Slow, isn’t he?”_

_Stop being mean._

He dropped his arms to lean on Davan’s shoulder. Evune moved his lips to his ears.  “You like my ass, don’t you?”

“It’s different from before.” Davan’s cheeks reddened. His hands still at the same spot.

“And how would you know that?” Evune dropped his hand, trailing down his arm, before he pushed his finger into his ass, still loose from earlier, watching as his throat jumped. He let go, brushing his hands up and down Davan’s arm, and let Davan turn two fingers into five as he thrust in and out listening to it squelch the deeper he pressed. Evune could see the outline of Davan’s cock in his pants strain upward. Evune pulled away, lifting up the wet cloth Oran had used earlier off his other end table, and wiping his thighs clean before walking to the door. “Like I said, take your time.”

“I already handled the curfews and spoke to the assembly about slowing down the Valens mining exit.” Davan cleared his throat. “You’re probably still exhausted. And Jed won’t be free for several hours, so—”

Evune answered with quirked lips. He sat on the edge of the bed. “True.”

“I do have—

“I find it convenient you’re not wearing your armor for once.”  Evune said. He lifted his foot and pressed down on Davan’s cock, rubbing it up and down—a wet spot coming through. “It’s irregular for you nowadays.”

Davan stammered, “There was a fight outside the spire with several displeased Altus. I injured my knee and—

“You knew how I like when you heal up. I hate it when you haul around your armor longer than necessary.” Evune tilted his head and slid his foot up underneath Davan’s sack, pressing hard, twisting his toes as he rubbed. He crooked his finger and Davan gulped. “Our Knight-Commander does have to be in top shape.”

Davan gently grasped Evune’s foot and crouched in front of Evune. “Have I ever told you—

Evune huffed. He didn’t want to hear false compliments right now. “That I’m beautiful. That I’m amazing. That I’m—

“A complete ass.” Davan finished. “Because I would want you even if I never get to have you.” He moved to stand off the bed and Evune snatched at his sleeve.

“I was being truthful. You’re not like other Tevinters.”

“A compliment to be sure.” Davan leaned forward and kissed his lips before pulling away. “I’ve never had you. It doesn’t have to be like this.

“I want this. I want you.” Evune admitted.

“Will it make you happy?” Davan pressed a gentle hand and brushed across his temple.

Evune nodded. Davan leaned forward and pecked his lips, like a bird. When he pulled away, Evune laughed. Davan leaned forward pushing Evune onto his back. His arms boxed Evune on the bed. “Are you laughing at the Knight-Commander?”

“I don’t see anyone else.”

Davan kissed his lips again and their tongues met. Davan tried speaking, his voice muffled. Evune pulled away. Davan repeated, “I haven’t done this in awhile.”

“How long is awhile?”

“A year. . . maybe two.” Davan said sheepishly.

Evune grinned. He untied Davan’s pants, yanking it off its loop ties and pointed to the headboard. “Take off your shirt.

“Should I—?”

“Get naked Davan, now.”

Davan stripped off his shirt and slide on the bed with his back against the headboard. Evune crawled up the bed, his fingers trailing up Davan’s legs to his abdominals that twitched when he reached it. Evune drew his finger up and down Davan’s cock. It started to lengthen and extend with thick veins showing on the side. Evune blew on it and watched as Davan gritted his teeth.

“Super sensitive.”

Davan huffed.

“I could just stare at you and you could probably cum just from my voice.” Davan’s cock strained upward and his sack rounded, twitch over and over again. His head fell back against the headboard and Evune just kept grazing his finger up and down. A droplet of cum pooled at the tip while he rolled his fingertips around the tip, sliding, and then felt down to the root. His cock strained upward, taut and veiny. “Such a large cock too.”

“Still the worst.” Davan retorted.

“Choices. Choices.” Evune added, still rolling his fingers on his cock and squeezing his sack with another. “Well, I’ve already tasted you once this week. I rubbed you off too. But, I haven’t let you take me yet, have I? And I’m still pretty open from earlier.” Evune palmed his sack, rolling it between his fingers and Davan spread his legs _._ Evune blew on Davan’s cock and licked a stripe. Davan groaned.

“Hey, I missed something earlier. I’ll be out in a second.” Oran came in and started searching on the ground. He raised his head and Evune tossed him a pointed look before turning to Davan with a grin. He continued twisting his hand around his cock only to feel it twitch and throb at Oran’s entrance. Embarrassed, Davan covered his face with his arm.

Evune grinned. “Oran, how much time do you have?”

“A few minutes.” Oran tossed a quizzical look at him before his eyes finally falling on the scene in front of him. “An hour at most.”

“I might need your help.” Evune said to Oran and turned to Davan, whispering in his ear while tracing a trail from his hips to his nipples slowly and gently as if barely touching at all. “Oran is going to swallow you whole, you know.” Oran slid in beside them. He wrapped his hand around Davan’s cock, replacing Evune’s when he scooted up and started kissing Davan’s neck.

 Oran palmed Davan’s cock up and down before swallowing, sucking in slowly from the tip to the root. Evune moved Davan’s arm, the one over his face, to clutch at Oran’s hair. “He’s going to soak your cock until you won’t be able to tell if its cum, spit, or sweat.”  The years of Templar training doing well for his chest and stomach muscles, pulling taut and solid, his fingers twitching. Evune flipped his leg over Davan’s stomach, wiggling his ass and listening to Davan huff even in his straining, and slid down to his cock watching it stretch and widen as Oran licked. He dropped his lips beside Davan’s sack sucking, tasting it smack his lips when he thrusted up and Evune held his hand tight around it, keeping him from releasing. Davan whimpered and dropped his hips. Evune dragged his lips up and as they licked, took care to always have it in one mouth at any time. 

They reached the tip and sucked it in, twisting their tongues together as Davan thrusted in desperately. Each turn they licked and swallowed his cock holding his root tight until Davan’s cock started flushing a deep purple and his cock hard, straining against the air. Evune wrapped his hand around his sack and Davan thrusted in and out until his cock got wet, leaking again. Evune gently pulled it back and watched it smack his stomach, wet with cum. His sack reddening and thickening round until his skin couldn’t stretch any further. Evune pulled Oran’s cock upward and Oran popped off Davan’s cock while Evune swallowed both cocks in one deep push. Oran hesitantly kissed Davan’s lips and Davan sucked him in, hand still in his hair. They thrusted in and out his mouth, thickening and stretching against the inside of Evune’s cheek rolling over his tongue. He flicked his tongue, flattening under the cocks until they both fell out. He wrapped each hand around the cocks squeezing pre-cum, twisting his wrists until Davan groaned. His hips forced still when he thrusted up again. Evune twisted around and slid forward on Davan’s legs. Oran moved his fingers down on his cock twisting, pressing on the tip of Davan’s cock preventing his release. His hand couldn’t even cover the half of it—the thick vein strained against the skin of his cock, dribbling pre-cum and false orgasms.

Evune pressed his lips against Davan’s and brushed his hands through Davan’s hair, trailing kisses along his temple. He said against his lips, “I want you to hold yourself back until I say so.”

Eyes closed, Davan nodded licking up into the kiss. He lifted up Evune’s hips and Oran pulled the stiff, purpled cock under his ass, wrapping both hands around it when he couldn’t fit it in one. Evune pulled Davan’s hands tight under his ass, holding him up, and leaned forward. Davan kneaded his ass but struggled to kiss back as his stomach spasmed again.

“Remember.”  Davan pulled away, panting underneath him, his stomach slick when it twitched from another blocked release. Evune dipped his tongue back between his lips as he slid his ass down Davan’s cock, the flesh of his cock pressing up and still twitching. The thickness and hardness of it slowing him down. He pressed his hands into Davan’s, holding them tight as he rotated his hips easing his ass down until it swallowed his cock. Evune dropped his head forward, panting. Davan’s head swung left and right, his face red as he groaned, whimpering. Evune rolled his head back. He caressed Davan’s neck and pressed his thumbs under his throat. “You’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

 Oran dropped his arms beside the two of them, grasping Evune’s hip as he slowly eased his own cock in. Evune started bouncing, his ass cheeks smacking skin. Oran thrusted once and Davan and Evune cried out. Oran pulled back and then slammed forward. His thrusts started to speed up and ram forward, rocking his cock in and out, slamming Evune on Davan’s cock while Evune bounced. Oran stilled as Evune speed up his bouncing the cocks slid against each other, slicking up Evune’s ass. His ass swallowed their cocks with ease.

Oran slid his fingers up Evune’s chest, kissing his neck and ears, pulling him straight against his chest. Evune’s bouncing slowed down as Oran pounded in and out again cum dripping out Evune’s ass. His thrusting pistoning in and out over and over again until Davan wrapped his hands around the two of them sliding his hand to Oran’s ass, yanking them forward. Evune grappled on Davan’s chest as he was shoved up and down, Oran tight behind him. Their bodies in sync as they slammed Evune back and forth between them. Oran rolled his hips again when Evune pressed his mouth to Davan’s ears, “Go.”

Davan thrusted up, his hips and hands shaking while Evune slid back and forth crying out when cum came pouring and pouring out pushing out Oran’s cock leaving Evune trembling on Davan’s chest. Every wired muscle on Davan’s body shook with the force of the release. His cock still red Oran gently palmed his cock and Davan groaned, whipping his head back and forth. His cock shuddering through another release and cum spitting out on Evune’s ass before Oran dropped his mouth, swallowing it down and squeezed.

“You _two_ ,” Davan breathed out heavily, “are the worst.” Evune weakly dropped a kiss.

Oran eased Evune on Davan’s side and then flipped on the other side of the bed.

“I think I’ll be set for a hundred years after these last two days.” Oran groaned.

Davan sighed heavily, failing to hide his embarrassment, by turning his face away. 

 Evune tilted up his head and kissed Davan’s lips again, while Davan hooked his arm around Evune and pressed him close, careful of his belly.

“I want to stay in bed today.” Evune said and Oran pressed forward, pulling the blanket over them. Evune pulled Oran’s arms around him. Davan hummed in agreement. Evune clutched Davan’s side, hearing him mumble in his sleep knowing with certainty he never wanted to sleep alone again

_“Da’lath’in, you are loved. Definitely. And these are only the few. . .”_

_Wolf . . ._

He blearily tilted his mouth up and caught Wolf’s lips against his own.

_. . . I know._

 

 

 

A few hours later, Oran was already gone and Davan had draped his leg over him, pulling him close. Something else settled within him. For once, he didn’t feel _owned_ but wanted. Davan pressed his lips to his ears. “Jed will be waiting at the tavern soon.” Evune sighed and stood up from the bed. “Let the guards watch from a distance.”

Evune agreed. He would need to be more careful now that his face was out there in the open now. Most of Minrathous would know of the elf slave that delayed the accords.

 

 

 

He waited outside the tavern—a metal sign built from nuts and bolts stood overhead like an extra piece of machinery. The whole tavern was mechanic with gears for tables and metal chairs beside them. It was a sloppy sort of tavern that didn’t scream a place people went out drinking but you could pretend it was—if only for pretenses. He sat down at a table searching around the heads of carta dwarves, casteless, and Liberati.

Jed lowered himself in the seat in front of him. Evune steepled his hands and spoke, “You lied to me.”

“I did not know who you were working for and my work is very private.”

“Don’t do it again.” Evune sharpened smooth like the halla leather of his mother's journal. He would not be used again. “Tell me, what do you actually do?”

“I study herbalism, historical codexes, and ancient mythology. Tevinter is rich in all three practices. My work is sometimes leased to the Ferelden crown. I was honest about that.”

“The secrecy is for. . .”

Jed crossed his arms and said, “There is magic in every region, but from here to Seheron there is something luring in the air. I came to research and learn. I did not know who to trust and who to be wary of.”

“You’re in luck, I—” Evune leaned forward. “I have more than a few questions to ask all for the sake of curiosity. For one, what do you know of Dragon Fire?”

Jed leaned back in his chair. “I know that it is a highly-desirable object within the Imperium. Its creation of possibilities is innumerable.”

“And its connection to mirrors?”

“Mirrors,” Jed blinked and Evune almost told him to ignore him, to forget about it when Jed opened his mouth, “There is one thing that comes to mind—Eluvians.”

"The transport system of the elvhen."  A disgusted voice breaks in. Shielan was standing there, shoulders awkwardly hunching against the table in a fashion that was more monstrous than tired or weary. 

Evune questions him seeing that something was off. "Are you--?"

 "Shielan" slid into a chair screeching it against the floor to their table and Jed crossed his hands over the table like a spectator. 

"No." Shielan raised his eyes and it briefly flashed. His voice deep and warbled like a rippled ocean. "I knew not to leave an elf to finish the job."

Evune knew this voice. "Where is he?"

"Dead." The other elf said, still in that strange voice. "Not that it should surprised you."

"It didn't make sense, but," Evune went tight-lipped. He had needed Oran's help and questioning seemed foolish. The man had been found. 

Jed, nearly expressive, furrowed his brows in confusion. "Who are you?"

"My children call me The Stone."

The image of Shielan sliding out from the broken remains of the Titan as it silenced flashed in his mind. 

"They experimented on him."

Those glowing blue eyes flashed again. "I have all of his memories but nothing of the tests. He was killed in the kidnapping."

And the brief happiness of earlier sunk in his stomach.  "You're here for a reason."

The creature before him huffed. "They propelled the world in a rotation it cannot reverse. Your ancestors will return and we must prepare for it."

"Ancestors?" Jed asked.

"The Darkspawn."

Evune let that admittance sit in the air. 

"Surely," Jed paused, conflicted and hesitant, it was as if the statement wouldn't fully translate, "Well, then, we must prepare."

He'd forgotten that Jed's countenance only allowed room for logic. It was pragmatic to focus on prevention.  "Agreed."

"We must start with the order. Someone must lead."

"For now," Evune stated, "Let it be the three of us."

The other two nodded.


	20. Part III: Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild lactation. Nothing sexual. I don't consider it gross since it's natural, but. . . to each his own(?).

_9:06 dragon_

16th day of Pluitanis

 

He wrapped his arms under and around his enlarged stomach, the size of perhaps two large melons distending outward. The word discomfort was about as descriptive for his situation as calling Elvia’s measures of destruction a “temper tantrum”. Nanterius, the ever intruding yet vigilant mentor, had been kind enough to send him an apparatus to help carry the load of his stomach.  And it did help. He thanked her in the mornings when he couldn’t see his feet and wondered if they were really there for him to stand up on. He thanked her in the nights when Leilani was a few seconds late in helping him dress for sleep. Of course, it didn’t lessen the weight itself but he had a few more weeks until that day—the holy day. He was already singing songs of praise with trumpets in the back for the day he could be himself again. They sat in the courtyard gardens, which unlike Tarsian’s was full of butterflies, flowers of fuschia, marigold yellow, and azure blue like the sky right before the sun’s rising. He had begun painting, lacking all skill and natural acuity unlike his father, but enjoying it nonetheless these memories of his. There were things he wanted to share with his children that his parents shared with him.

As things were, the next few months after the delaying of the accords, his weight gain had been far more than predicted. He had been unable to travel much farther than the Argent Spire much to his ire but Tarsian and Elvia’s divided happiness. The Black Divine and Davan worked quite well together in scheduling meetings and appointments to make Tarsian nearly non-existent in Evune’s day to day. It was refreshing. He felt free. Not Liberati free. Truly free.

He dipped the brush, twisting the bristles, before gently gracing the canvas. For now, he could only draw sunrises and sunsets. Dropping the brush on the easel’s latch, he rolled his chair back to the table at Sareethi and her son’s entrance into the garden.

“Lieutenant Anaximander said I’ve grown tall enough to go up to sword training. A _real_ iron sword!” Kaaras spun on his heels and unfurled his teeth in a playful glare. “I’ll be a Templar sooner than everyone else my age.”

 Kaaras had already grown a few inches finishing around Evune’s height. It seemed everything was changing. Evune welcomed it but Sareethi couldn’t say the same. She grabbed her water glass and gulped it down. She dropped the glass back on the table and winced when the umbrella skimmed along her hair. The sun was beating down on them this day. He wore two thin robes for propriety sake but they were two too many. “I don’t like this.”

 Evune had heard her complaints for the last month. She had never once believed her son would like it here in the spire. How cruel a mother was she if they had to drop everything and leave? She didn’t want to be the villain like his father. And he was far too young to hear the true story.

“I don’t know why you’re nervous.” Evune sighed. He shifted in the padded chair and looked over at the gardens before them. Like today, he often went to the spire with Sareethi to visit her son. Sitting in the courtyard gardens, one unlike Tarsian’s, was full of butterflies, flowers of fuschia, marigold yellow, and azure blue like the sky. Homesickness had struck him quick and fleeting but in the days exactly like today it settled in the pit of his stomach like a hollow stone. “It’s good. He’s going to be a cadet much earlier than his classmates.”

“He’s too young.” Sareethi shook her head and knocked it into the umbrella again. “And I’m too old.”

“Fenedhis, let me move it.” Evune pushed himself up and twisted the sprocket, raising the umbrella. “Not all things are made for tiny people. You’re not as old as you think. Perhaps it’s time for you to find a hobby.”

“Crushing skulls _is_ a hobby.”

Hands reached up and wrapped around him, helping him carrying the weight of his belly. “You shouldn’t be standing looking like that.” Davan said with a kiss on his cheek. He slid into the chair and pulled Evune into his lap.

“I’m going to crush you.”

“I think I can handle it.” Davan said and he kissed his neck again.

Sareethi said bluntly, “You’re making me throw up in my throat, twice. Weren’t we discussing my problems?”

Davan quirked a brow before tightening his hold. “I hear Kaaras is doing well.” They all turned to watch a group of other cadets wave Kaaras over. The group of them ran off around the corner.

“He is.” Sareethi said curtly.

Davan, diplomatic as ever, chose not to walk into it. Evune, likewise, decided it was best to change the conversation.

“What did your uncle say?” Evune asked. “The Black Divine.”

“He’s not really, technically, my uncle.”

Evune replied with a pointed look, “His help saved me. Your mother was his sister. I’m calling him your uncle. It sounds more official.” He ignored Sareethi’s huff and Davan’s tongue click.

Davan shifted, feeling the weight of Evune but stubbornly refusing to budge. Evune rather liked the Knight-Commander. Suffering for the greater good. “His people have found that Elvia has been studying fade magic. Jed agrees. The imports we were able to track were all literature on various forms of fade magic. He hasn’t been able to know exactly what that magic will do, though.”

Sareethi snorted. “Mages and their fade nonsense. This is what brought Tevinter to where it is now.”

“Tevinter is not a weak nation but, nonetheless, I know that. My uncle knows that.” Davan said, even when Evune tossed him a look at his use of ‘uncle’. “She’s also researching summoning magic. It’s seeming more and more likely that Toth is the end game.”

“Jed sent us enough information on the Old Gods and dragons to know that the only one it could possibly be is blighted.” Evune said. His stomach twitched and pinched. He dropped his hand and began sliding his hand, trying to calm them. “She still hasn’t made her move against the Liberati. I can only hope that it was a feint but with them being so close to the ancient trails of the Deep Roads, well, the word _blight_ is concerning.”

“Where’s the Grey Wardens when you need them?” Sareethi said humorously.

Evune answered, staring over at the gardens when a flutterbug fell on the table. With a twist of his lips, he slapped his hand down. He lifted it his hand back up and wiped the crushed wings of the insect off with a napkin carrying the insignia of the Black Divine. “I doubt they’ll ever come to Tevinter. We don’t scream “Help us” like Orlais and Ferelden often do.”

Sareethi and Davan shared a look before Davan cleared his throat. “My _uncle_ brought you up today.”

Evune raised a brow. “Did he?”

“Sareethi joined us even.” Davan said carefully and his eyes jumped to Sareethi’s again. “We’ve been talking without you. About worst case scenarios.”

“Spit it out.” Evune stared pointedly at the both of them. “This better be a good reason to talk about my health with the Divine of all people.” Evune leaned his head back and closed his eyes, continuing to rub his stomach even as Davan added his own hands to help by gently pushing against his back like a massage.

“We believe—there is a high chance you’re having multiples. We have to plan for that occasion.” Davan said lowly. “You know the superstitions.” Emrynek’s brief summary of Tevinter fear was nothing in the face of the stories Evune read. Twins were precious and in relation to magic it was nothing short of a miracle to have two. Any more than that. . .

He had heard worse names than that in the stories of demon children and the devouring of the mother.

“And why aren’t you worried?” Evune shot back. “Sareethi and I have an excuse. Never born in this stupid place. Do you agree? Do you think they’re abominations? Twists of nature.”

Davan pursed his mouth and then wrapped his hands into Evune’s. “I think there’s nothing you could carry and give birth to that would be evil. Breathe.”

Evune exhaled sharply feeling the heat in his chest cool. His blood pumping under his skin painfully.

_“Many mothers did not survive such a thing. A curse was the appropriate name.”_

_It’s been a thousand years. We’re past this._

_“If it means anything, in Arlathan it was a gift.”_

_Is that what you would call it? You never told me what you did. Was this your gift?_

Wolf’s response, as always when Evune brought the question up, was silent.

“A choice will have to be made.” Sareethi said. She leaned back in the chair and a scroll fell out from her pocket. "Laws, superstition aside, are cruel to younger siblings."

Davan tightened his hold, his breathing eerily quiet. Evune pulled away and stood up with a grimace. “Oran told me they ransacked Elvia's place. Hand it to me. I know you have it.” Sareethi bent forward and slid it to Davan and Evune--it was the map they lost so many weeks ago. "Jed has a theory about the markings. He thinks it's a map in several ways and the Hand of Thoth is only one."

"We should focus on the _one_ for now." Davan added.

"The lines make the ward that will be needed to be made to summon the dragon's spirit into them. It won't be easy, but I doubt she hasn't been readying for it since the Proving. Even earlier." 

"It's already too late then." Sareethi sniffed. "I would've liked to crush her skull."

Evune grinned. "But the ward won't work on its own. She'll need the mirror Tarsian has."

"That's why you upped security at the manor." Davan frowned. "You didn't tell me."

"It should've been inferred, Davan. I can't stand by and do nothing as the due date becomes closer."

"The mirror should be moved." Davan said tightly. "We will do that today." Evune plopped back on Davan’s lap and Davan made a muffled “umph” sound at the drop. It was like water in his stomach shifting when he moved. It was uncomfortable. Yet, hearing the sound of Davan’s pained gasp gave him comfort.

_“They’re not wrong.”_

The paper slipped between his fingers for a moment and he held his expression tight, feeling the eyes of Sareethi and Davan bare down on him. _I know. . .I . . .I need more time._

Wolf brushed a comforting hand against his shoulder and then kissed his stomach.

_“Etha, da’lenaan. (Be safe, children)”_

_You’re here. They will be._

Wolf pressed a kiss against his cheek and was silent once again.

“It’s a map of Seheron for the most part. We thought it was all of Thedas but—” Evune stared at the map, his fingers moving across the sewn map and a transparent paper with the puzzle overlayed. The cities were painted in different colors with different symbols trailing along with them. “But old, ancient, it doesn’t even have the Qunari settlement in the east. What other use does it have?”

Davan leaned forward and wrapped his arms under his stomach once again. “It also has the discolored lines. Deshanna had said it was a puzzle. I don’t see it.”

Evune lined his fingers on the discolored city names. “When you follow the red city names, it makes a rune shape unrelated to the wards. Let me see the other four colors.”  Evune nodded. “Yes, each of them together form a rune. I have no idea about the symbols though.”

“They remind me of old statues in Qarinus.” Sareethi leaned forward. She drew the symbols against the map. “I would say it’s an old language by those who came before.”

“Before?” Evune questioned.

Sareethi turned the map around and pointed at the symbols. “Before Qunari, there was the Kossith. Their recordings and writings were burned in a purge centuries ago. Their characters looked similar to this. A hawk, a pyramid, a fish, and a circle with an x.”

“Doesn’t the Carta have that mark on their cheek?” Evune added.

"Tevinter uses it as slave markings as well." Davan paused, thoughtfully. His hands dragging across Evune's sides. “And why would Kossith words be in Qarinus? And the Carta mark themselves with it?”

“We could start with the Carta. The Shaperate would be the first place to visit. Their historians know millennium's past.” Sareethi said, giving looks at the other two. “I will meet with Gunak and Emrynek to find out more people to find out from.”

“Gunak?” Evune brightened. “Are you two becoming—?”

“No.”

Evune grinned. “Well, tell me when that changes.”

“I will send a missive to the Circle in Qarinus. They must know something.” Davan answered.

“For now, this is good enough.” Evune said, standing up with Davan’s help. He clutched his stomach feeling another spasm hit through.

Davan hunched forward. “Are you alright?”

Evune breathed out before he said, “Yes, I think I need a cool bath. My back hurts and these straps are starting to itch.”

“I’ll leave with. I need to speak to my brother anyway.” Davan replied.

Evune walked as slowly as he could without losing balance. He swept away from the table, feeling his weight heave forward and whole world shift as a result as he turned, “We should get a gift for Kaaras too. Skipping a grade has to be special.” As soon as his eyes turned forward, a bladed spear flew in the air hurtling towards him. His eyes widened and time slowed. Davan was too far away to do anything but express horror. Sareethi head was already turned away in the opposite direction. Wolf swept in front of him like air and a barrier made of rock appeared. The spear clattered to the floor much like Evune to his knees.

He grappled the grass under his fingers.

“Get him!” Davan shouted at his men as the spear thrower tried running away. He joined in the chase.

Wolf’s hands pulled him close, whispering in his ear things that Evune couldn’t comprehend at the moment. His voice pulled him back into reality.

_“Ma vhenan, breath.”_

He inhaled sharply. _I’m fine._

Sareethi charged forward, reaching his shoulder. “Did it hit you?”

Evune shook his head quickly.

She touched the stone wall and it fell to pieces and into dirt. She gave him a questioning look.

“Jed gave me a protection ward. I thought it would come in handy.” Evune said. The words ringing false before he spoke them aloud. “And, it did.”

Sareethi huffed and then crossed her arms, placated for now. 

Oran appeared from out the corner and his eyes flew across the courtyard until reaching the shattered spear on the ground. He ran towards them, jumping over a table in the process. Clutching both of Evune’s shoulders, he patted him down, checking him for injuries. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you? Did he—

Evune stood up, wobbling, and then laid a calming hand on his arm. “I’m fine. What’s going on?”

The Liberati second-in-command blew out his cheeks. “Some of our people are going nuts. Random people. We had to shut them in cages and lock their arms, their feet together to stop them from running into town striking people down if they stood in their way. They all seemed to be running towards here.”

“An illness.” Sareethi said. “Your doctors have checked them over?”

"The Argent Spire is an odd place to run to.”

“They don’t have any temperatures. The only thing I know for sure is that yesterday, early in the day,” Oran paused, drawing a hand against his face before sighing. “they were running to the Vesces main house. I don’t know for sure, but I think they’re running after you.”

“Yesterday?” Davan interrupted. His voice edging on anger. “And you didn’t say anything? This is the kind of thing we need—

“We didn’t know it was a problem.”

“It doesn’t matter! They almost attacked him in his sleep.” Davan replied, “And if you thought it was a plague—

“They don’t have temperatures!” Oran cut in.

“Illness is an illness no matter the constrict—

“Things happen all the time, Knight-Commander,” Oran retorted bitingly, “And if every time we ran to you when there was a problem _nothing_ would get done.”         

The trees, the benches, the flowers, swirled around him and their voices muffled into strange sounds. He saw a hooded, malformed figure walk towards him with diseased flesh and rock-like protrusions on its skin. It almost looked human if not for its long clawed fingers and far too skinny height. He felt someone clutch his arm before he blinked himself into clarity. He found himself sitting on a bench with Oran and Davan on either side. Sareethi nowhere to be seen.

His head started pounding and he swallowed harshly. “We need to figure out what’s wrong with them.”

_Did you see it?_

_“Show me.”_

Evune tried to remember the figure and its tortured spirit.

_“It’s a darkspawn. . .but one unlike I have ever seen.”_

He pressed a hand against his temple.

“Are you kidding me?” Oran said, “You’re not going anywhere. You just about passed out a second ago.”

Davan nodded. “I’ll go with Oran and—

“No.” Evune said sternly, he took a glance at both of them, “Both of you will be with me. I’ll be fine.”

Oran sighed and with Davan’s help, hauled Evune up. Davan pulled away. “I’m going to get the carriage ready and some food for you. Take it easy. Don’t rush.” Davan sped off down the hall. Evune pressed his lips closed, stifling his laughter. The escalating adrenaline emptied out and left him lightheaded. He turned to Oran. “Where’s Sareethi?”

“She went to check on Kaaras. He was one of the cadets that found your attacker, Lanehn.”

“Lanehn . . .” Evune said to himself. “He’s the one who guarded me before. Is there another?”

Oran sighed. “Yeah, this is weird behavior for all the ones going crazy. None of them even show signs of sweating or lethargy. There’s no history of violence either. It’s got us all on edge already. Anytime somebody coughs the whole cavern moves to another room.”

Evune pondered that. A disease that wasn’t a disease?

_Are there spells that control minds?_

_“No single spell. There are objects—ancient and powerful—that may suffice but no single spell or even staff could do it without days of effort.”_

_It would take a certain forethought, wouldn’t it?_

_“Yes.”_

Evune knew then that it had be Elvia. This is what she had warned him about, but until he knew for sure he would keep quiet.  

“The carriage is ready!” Davan shouted from the courtyard’s exit.

 

 

 

They reached the check-in for the Ambassadoria to find it empty of any people in the line. Davan had stuffed a small sandwich in his hand that sat untouched.

“Do you want more? I should’ve made more.” Davan asked quickly. Oran rocked his hand against his shoulder.

“You’re doing fine, Davan. Stop panicking.”

Evune snorted. “He’s not the one baking babies in his stomach. Large, heavy human elf babies.” He took a large bite out of the sandwich and hummed. Davan was always the best cook.  _And_ he never made fish gruel. He called it a "worm-like dish". Oh, one day, Oran will see the error of his ways.  When they reached the person on watch, the dwarf tilted his head at the entrance, “Some of the Liberati are going mad. We’ve tightened security. Unless you have magisterium access—”

Evune sighed. “Thank you for the warning.” He motioned towards Oran who pulled the scroll out from his tunic.

“Of course, I—Wait,” the dwarf paused and made a perusing gaze on Evune. “Evunial? You’re the warrior from the Proving.”

“Yes, I—There were only four fights. I couldn’t do another round.” Evune admitted. He felt embarrassed that there were few things he was known for. Being on his hands and knees, for one. The other was him throwing the match after winning the required wins.

“Of course not! Look at you big as a house. You’re welcome to go right in.”

The three of them walked in through the cavern. Evune grumbled, “I’m not big as a house. Only two melons.”

 Oran pressed a kiss on his cheek, he said, “Definitely. Only a few melons.”

“ _Two_ melons!”

A carriage waited for them inside but the short walk from the alley to the inside of the Liberati compound still left Evune exhausted. He had to sit down in the first cabin near the entrance to have Oran get the guard on duty to update the situation.

Emrynek stood out, fidgeting. His expression relieved as soon as he saw them. “It’s not just the Liberati. Some of the casteless are affected too. One of my boys.”

“I’m sorry, Emrynek—

Emrynek huffed. “Keep your sorry and just fix this goddamn ancestor cursed problem.”

“Who exactly are being affected?” Evune asked. They walked into the caverns, much cleaner than they were the last time they were here, to see people with bags under their eyes and others shaking awake from sleep. “They look exhausted.”

“They’re not the only ones.” Oran said bitterly. “Some of our guards were struck by the illness too. We’re short-staffed and short-roomed.”

The few Liberati guards shuffling around wore red eyes and similar drooping eye bags.

Oran brushed a hand through his hair. “Boss, kind of, handed me the reins a few days ago. I’ve had to relocate resources and shift people around. People were acting strange last week but all of those felt better the next day. I should’ve said something the first moment I—

Evune reached out a hand and clasped his tightly. “You couldn’t have known. You’re doing fine. We’ll figure it out. Do you know where Shielan is now?”

“Sooner than later, I hope.” Emrynek said before spitting a wad on the floor. "The Boss is out near the mines. He said he was feeling 'Vibrations.' It was nugfucking strange."

A group of Liberati guards came in with an elven woman snarling, hissing like a serpent and her eyes wild.

“Another one.” Oran said and one of the guards nodded. The guards tightened their hold on the woman as she yanked and dragged herself to the floor. While the other three kept walking, he stilled. He remembered this woman. She was the one who worked with Leilani in his first days.

His curiosity lit up. Evune caught the edge of Oran’s collar, stopping him in his place, “Oran, have you checked their slave marks?” Emrynek and Davan turned around.

Oran frowned.  “No, should I have?”

“We need to check and see if all the Liberati affected, even casteless, have Vesces slave marks.” Evune said, firmly. “I remember her face from my first night at the manor. And I know Lanehn has one.”

Oran pressed a kiss on Evune’s lips, pushed a braid over his shoulder. “It’s a lead at least. We’ll look into it. If I don’t see you later, try and sleep well tonight. Take care of the baked goods.” He wrapped his arm around Evune and then rubbed his stomach.

“I’ll be fine. Take care of business.” Evune told him.

Oran nodded and Evune watched him follow the guards down the stairs of the settlement.

“I think we’ve done all we could.” Davan added.

“Not completely.” Evune said. He turned to Emrynek. “Will you come with us to Roka’s reach?”

Emrynek sniffed. “Nug shit and darkspawn vomit wouldn’t stop me.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Davan said.

 

Roka’s Reach was packed with people and three bartenders. Running hotter than normal already, he felt sweltering hot inside the tavern and rolled up his sleeves and tied up his braids. Davan, protective as usual, but overly so when surrounded by so many people, kept close. He tried wrapping himself around Evune but was evaded with a knocked hand.

“You were fine when Oran did.” Davan said under his breath. Emrynek rolled his eyes and disappeared into the tavern crowd to the bar.

Evune retorted. “I was fine because it wasn’t burning hotter than Seheron in the swamplands. What is with you? You’ve been quiet and nervous ever since we left the spire.”

“I saw him throw the spear. I saw it in the air, spinning.” Davan recounted, his voice distant. “You were already dead. Everything—it was all gone. This little place, a hovel really, I should build you a better one, that I made was _gone_.”

Evune blinked in confusion as Davan continued.

 “It was the place I had made for you and I was suddenly ripped out.” Davan finished. “It was horrid. It was a nightmare, however brief.”

Evune sighed and pulled Davan’s arms around him. “I’m fine now. Your men found him.”

“Not because of me. I was too late.”

“Then we’ll have to do better next time.” Evune answered.

Davan noisily breathed out. “I know. I know. It doesn’t make it any easier that you’re always in someone’s aim.” He nuzzled Evune’s cheek. “You must still be burning up.” Davan guided him to the corner of the tavern where the fan overhead sat. It was a corner of the tavern where they could see everyone in the tavern. Evune breathed a sigh of relief as the fan blew relatively cool air on his neck. He let Davan hen over him. It seemed like it was the only thing going to make him feel better about the situation.

Evune folded up the back of his shirt, uncovering his skin to the cool air and Davan scooted the chair to make sure his skin was out of sight. He wasn’t sure if he felt offended that Davan thought him, of all people, needed his propriety protected or humorous that Davan had no idea that dwarves wouldn’t see his skin much more than _simply_ skin.

 Emrynek leaned over the bar, calling out to his friend from the last time they were here. Emrynek walked up the stairs to them. “Kalag said Roka’s smithy is outside through the side door downstairs.”

“I’m too exhausted to go.” Evune winced. He lightly pulled on the straps helping him carry the weight if only to release some pressure. “I need a break.”

Emrynek huffed and crossed his arms. “Well, I’m not going alone. Kalag made sure to tell me that the old bones won’t appreciate strangers.”

Davan frowned deeply.

“I’ll be fine. It’ll only be a few seconds.” Evune said, waving him on.

Emrynek knocked into Davan’s shoulders and slapped a heavy hand against his shoulder before the two of them left. Evune fanned his face, still feeling sweat fall from his forehead.

“Welcome, surfacer.” Freytag plopped down at his table with two bowls of nug stew and bread. “Want to share?”

_“I would not if I were you.”_

_But it’s nug stew!_

_“Your humor is lacking.”_

Evune apologized. “I’m not hungry. Surprisingly.” He pulled his hands clasped into his lap.

_Where did you go? It’s weird when I can’t sense you._

_“Something isn’t right with the magic in Minrathous. I was feeling the fade to find the source of the darkspawn vision.”_

 Freytag snorted. “Ah, no worries. Most dwarves won’t eat food from another’s hand while carrying a noble child either.”

_“Whatever it may be, there is something on both sides blocking me from finding it.”_

“I didn’t know Roka’s Reach was so popular.” Evune said. Freytag shifted in her chair.

_“It may have to do with darkspawn. I don’t know.”_

_Great. A blighted dragon and darkspawn. If you tell me there’s a Blight coming—_

_“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”_

_Good, one thing at a time._

Freytag laughed. “It’s the only place that makes a decent nug stew. They add this Seheron spice—

“Calentri?” Evune added.

“Yes, it smells like fresh cavern bugs but it tastes like onions and earth.”

_My mother used to add it to our stew._

_“Your mother may have taught Roka to use it.”_

_It’s a nice idea. Completely impossible. But nice try._

“How far along are you?” Freytag asked. She started taking bites of her stew, dipping the bread in the soup.

“Seven months and some days.”

“Look, I’m going to cut to the chase.” Freytag said, while still munching on the stew and bread, “The delegates saw you at the Proving, admire your candor at the meeting and control you have over the lower classes. We’ve been watching you and we like what we see.”

Evune flitted a smile. “I’m not interested in being a pawn or a reward. It’s an allegiance and, in time, an alliance.

Freytag stopped chewing and burst out laughing. Food flew out from her mouth and Evune sighed.

“I’m being serious.”

 “Look, _kid._ ” Freytag said, her mouth still full of food. “They don’t care. What they do care about is the lyrium trade with the Imperium. Do you know who they need to mine it? The Carta. But the ‘royal family’ has lost the respect of them and you’re quickly gaining it in their stead. Not only that, you’re carrying the heirs to this very family. You follow?”

“Mayhaps.” Evune answered.

“We want you on the Magisterium. We don’t know how. We don’t care when as long as it’s before the babes turn five. But, you will have the support of _all_ the delegates.” Freytag finished and wiped her hands on her pants before standing up, “We don’t support easily. Don’t make us regret it.” Freytag dropped her empty bowl and brushed the bread crumbs off from her hands. She pushed through the packed crowd and left the tavern through the same door swing Davan and Emrynek came in only to freeze. In fact, the whole bar froze.

"Shielan, you can come out."

The other elf's form fazed in front of him as if out from the air itself he appeared. "The lifeblood is corrupted."

"The lyrium?" Evune questioned. The Titan had refused to call his own blood the name everyone else called it. And he called elves stubborn."How?"

"They're using it on a mage--infecting him. He's connected to all these people." Shielan stated. His eyes veered off as if staring through the pub walls. "It's going to spread if we don't kill the mage."

Evune winced.  _She would attack now when I'm days away from the holy day._  "We're also moving the mirror today. It should be in a controlled place, like the Proving Arena. We'll need you to guard it."

"Agreed." Shielan tilted his head and his eyes flashed. "The strange mage needs to be made aware."

"I'll let him know." 

Shielan turned to leave when Evune burst out, "So, when can I let Oran know about you?"

The Titan snorted. "I've told you many times. At any time."

"But, don't you need to prepare what you're going to say? Shielan was like his father and grandfather. The Liberati looked up to him." Evune could imagine the fury and hell that would rain down upon them. Oran might not ever forgive him. It was one reason he delayed telling him. He wanted the Titan to get some sense of humanity before dealing with, well, humans. 

Shielan's neon blue eyes shimmered and it was like flames jumped from them. "I am ready. It is you who is not. Do not impress your human--

"Okay," Evune raised his hands in surrender, "I got it. I'll let him know. And it's elven."

"Even worse," Shielan's mouth tried to twist into a smile as he gave one short laugh, "Hah. And I will get the strange mage to help me find the corrupted mage."

"Yeah, and remember, learn names when you've got the chance. Names." Evune repeated. Shielan huffed before slamming the door closed and the people unfroze.

Davan’s gaze dropped on the empty bowl and swiveled around the tavern. “Where did they go?”

“It was Freytag Aeducan." Evune answered, knowing that Davan had missed many of Shielan's drop in visits, "She gave me an offer.”

Emrynek snorted. “Aeducan second line? She’s one of those bastard children the Aeducans haven’t even placed on the tree yet. Powerful but a pawn.”

“Can we trust her?” Davan asked.

“It depends on the situation.” Emrynek answered.

Evune said distractedly, “She offered all the Ambassadoria delegates in return for lyrium trade stability and Carta Loyalty.”

“Yeah, it sounds legit. I know the boys have been talking about the classes squeezing down on them. What they don’t know is that they don’t have a choice. You either work and eat or sleep and starve.” Emrynek said.

“Unless we gave them a choice.” Evune said thoughtfully. He shook his head and turned to Davan. “What happened with the runes?”

“We got them translated. The runes fit the specifications for summoning magic from the Fade but Roka said it was nothing he had ever seen. He said it was serious—larger than any demon or spirit summoning. He can't create a counterward.”

Davan wiped a jittery hand across his chin. “There's no way to stop it if she's already started."

“Great.” Evune said. He pushed away from the table. “We knew there was a high chance. Fenedhis!” Evune dropped his head against the wall. “We should go back home. We need to make everyone aware. Move the mirror first. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen soon.”

“We’ll take a break at the settlement first.” Davan said as he helped Evune walk. “Your feet look swollen.”

He looked down at his feet and then remembered, wait, he couldn't see his feet anymore. Evune gave a pained nod knowing that the pain coming from his feet meant that Davan was telling the truth.

 

 

 

“All of the infected Liberati, even casteless, have the Vesces slave mark.” Oran said while Davan slid Evune onto the bed’s edge. He paced around the room, much larger than Evune’s prior room. Oran ended up moving Evune into his own bedroom a few months earlier. Pure dwarven architecture, there were dividers from the bed area and the kitchen to the rest area. The bathroom, although not as big as the one in the manor, was a comfortable size with a large enough bathtub to fit two people. “How is he doing this?”

“It more likely that it’s Elvia again. Tarsian was a puppeteer at first but he underestimated Elvia’s cleverness. In all honesty, everyone did. Even us.” Davan added before crouching to the floor and massaging Evune’s feet. “Nanterius and her connections could never figure out why they still continued to kidnap Liberati. We now know why. This must’ve been her plan. To manipulate the slave marks. So she could make an army.”

The constant stinging and pulsing in his feet prevented him from correcting Davan. They still didn't know why they kept kidnapping Liberati, especially if they only needed one. This was planned since the very beginning but something didn't seem right. Elvia's and Tarsian's losses  _couldn't_ have been planned, could they?

“How are you feeling?” Oran turned to Davan.

Davan pursed his lips. Oran said humorlessly, “I’m only asking because out of all of us. You’re the only one with Evune every day of every second. All she has to do is get to you.”

“My mark isn’t like the other marks. It's been contained.” Davan argued. Evune felt like groaning when his hands stopped moving.

“A mark is a mark.” Oran retorted. “If she’s got control of one, what does one more mean?”

Evune cut in before Davan could reply. “His mark isn’t the same as the Vesces mark but we’re still not locking up every slave and servant, Liberati, casteless, or otherwise, got it? I think it's spread about as far as it will for a few days at least.”

“And in a few day’s time?” Oran pressed.

Evune eyes tightened. “We’ll have solved it by then.”

Oran slowly nodded. He brushed a hand through his hair and then slid behind Evune, loosening his robe, and unhooked the straps holding his belly up. Evune groaned and Oran press to his back, rubbing his thumbs into it.

“The important thing is that we cure them. Preferably by tomorrow.” Evune said. His hands tightening against the sheets, grunting through the twinging pain. “Can the regular marks be removed?"

Oran answered, dropping his fingers to his lower back. He moved his hands to cup under Evune’s belly. “No, and most of the connections are already broken in the Liberati transition spell. We’ll need someone to review the marks and check. Hopefully, we’ll get a response. Otherwise, there’s only one way.”

Evune sighed at the lightened pressure, wrapping his own hands under Oran’s.  “Tell us.”

“Either the slave owner is killed or the slave.” Oran finished.

Evune twisted around, or about as much as he could, “You know we can’t get rid of Tarsian yet.”

Oran pulled away and Evune had to resist grappling for his hands. “The man is a monster. If we got rid—

“It’s too risky right now.” Davan added in.

“Why,” Oran hissed, “because he’s your brother. And you, because you _used_ to care about him. He abandoned you and he used you. There’s no good left in him and not nearly enough to sacrifice my people.”

“I know, but—

Oran threw his hands in the air and stomped out the room with the door slamming behind him.  Davan moved his hands to Evune’s ankles and watched Evune twist his fingers into a fist. “He’s not wrong but neither are you. You have a slave mark too, even if it’s different than the rest. We have to prepare for worst case.”

 _“The scar is only that—a scar. The locator hex attached to it clings on barely. It’s more like how the ill are finding you. It may have even been their first plan.”_ Wolf came to his side, helping him lift his belly.  _"I don't feel such comfort with Davan's mark. It may not be the same but with time and dedication. . ."_

 _We'll find the cure before then. In the meantime,_ _I feel like I’m constantly carrying dock loads and falling off scheduled transports. Who told me this was a good idea?_

Wolf pressed a kiss on his lips. _“No one, but this is why you have us.”_

Evune closed his eyes, breathing through his nose, heavily, and opening his mouth to calm his beating heart. Davan's voice humming in his ear. He quieted at the creaking of the door opening and Oran peering through, shame painted on his face.

“You know," Evune breathed, the tremor of pain slowly easing out, "that if Tarsian is killed before one of the babies is called his heir. This will all be for nothing. There won’t be any security. Our leverage will be gone. The children and I—we’ll be—

“Liberati, if not pulled to court.” Oran finished while walking back through the doorway. “Which, yeah, is a punishing sentence for some.”

“Oran, that’s not what I meant.”

“No, you’re right.” Oran crouched in front of Evune’s other leg and grazed his belly, feeling a hard press against his hand. “We’re trying to do better for the future. I get it. I don’t like this but I get it.”

“Keep them, all the ones going mad, comfortable. We’ll find another way. We won’t leave them to suffer or sacrifice them. If we have no choice, we won’t lose any of our people.”

“I have to go check things over and lead, but—

Davan interrupted, “We’ll make our way back to the manor. We don’t need suspicion aimed at our backs.” 

Oran nodded.

 

 

 

Evune sunk deep into the bath splashing water as he sat on the edges of the water. Right now as he slid into dreamland, Davan and his Templars were taking the mirror to the Arena and Shielan was going to find the main at the center of the illness.

_“Sitting around won’t help the joints.”_

_Shut up. Everything hurts and if I could sit in here until the birth. I would._

Wolf appeared, semi-corporal, and leaned forward kissing Evune deeply, holding his nape and tilting his head up into the kiss. _“Turn around. I can help loosen your muscles.”_

_If that’s what you call it._

Wolf rolled his eyes and waited for Evune to turn on his side before rubbing and pressing his thumb into his back.

_“You are beautiful. More radiant than sunlight, you know?”_

_It’s fine. You don’t have to._

_“Your beauty and character are far more apparent when you struggle and fight. But your voice while moaning is equally as fetching.”_

_Why do you have to make things creepy?_

_“Time difference?”_

_How old are you Wolf?_

_“. . .Old.”_

Evune shook his head with a smile. He leaned his arm on the side of the bath and was lulled into relaxation. When he awoke again, Wolf was gone. “Leilani.”

She came out from the corner with a basket of his standard oils and soaps. She placed it beside him and bowed. “What can I do for you?”

“Any updates?”

“Arnarel arrived in Vyrantium and a few of the elven Liberati have moved there to join their clan. Marcella and Gheeran are getting married next month.”

Evune sighed. “Let’s hope it’s after the babies are born.”

“I have placed Sir Jed’s fruit seeds in your drawer and the notes he’s collected from his trip to Vol Dorma.”

“I hope he's been catching up on current events.”

“I hope he did as well, sir.”

“Did you send the gift to Queen Rowan of Ferelden?”

Leilani nodded. “Their missives seemed curt but thankful. They don’t know who you are and don’t know what to make of you.”

“Perfectly valid since I’m still a slave. One of worth, I guess, but still.”

Leilani argued, “You’re the future of Tevinter, sir. Don’t knock your importance.”

“Now you’re just inflating my ego." Evune heaved a sigh, rolling his shoulders in the water, "I may need to soak longer.”

Leilani tilted her head and then left the room.

Evune rested his head against the spring bath edges.

The voice sung in his ear. _"E tundra'ashalan, esalathal'ishan gara. E tundra'mamae, sul em su josh tuas tharala. Dhulaman o targen'jol, dhulaman Elvhenor.”_

Evune sighed. He felt those familiar unseen hands rub against the tight skin of his stomach. He winced feeling pressure on his lower body. What he imagined a drum must feel like to be played, this is how it felt to have movement in his stomach.

 _“They are fragile and close to arriving.”_ Wolf continued, _“But I will protect you. Do not fear.”_

Evune closed his eyes and hummed in agreement. He struggled to lift himself out. “Lei—

Invisible hands lifted his arms and his back, pulling him out from the water spring.

_Thank you. . .for protecting me. I doubt you would die if I did._

_"I doubt that as well, but I do treasure your company."_

 Leilani appeared and then rushed over with a towel in hand. “You’re much too far along, sir, to get out by yourself.” She draped the plush towel around him and directed him to the bedroom.  Evune was directed to his bed and he sat on the edge, breathing heavily. The babies fidgeted and moved, the ripples moving along his stomach.  He rubbed his hands along his belly button, hushing them. Leilani disappeared into his closet and came back with a white robe. She draped it over him.

“You don’t have much longer sir.”

A knock sounded on his door and then it creaked open. The dour face of Archon Vesces appeared, he gestured Leilani to leave the room. She shared a quick look with Evune before bowing out the room.

Tarsian sat on the bed and Evune raised a brow. Evune spoke first, “What do you want?”

“The contract was signed. You won. None of the addendums went through and the Hand of Thoth request has been limited.” Tarsian said, his voice cold, “If your goal was to weaken Tevinter and make us look like wrought children against the Qunari, then you’ve achieved it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they attacked tomorrow.”

Evune scooted himself to sit back against the headboard. “My goal was to protect the people who cannot protect themselves. Throwing classes into disarray would cause that for one. There’s a way to fight them without sacrificing all your people.”

“A thankless job I’m sure.” Tarsian said, “The only good part of your incessant rebellion is Elvia’s disappearance.”

Evune blinked his eyes open knowing his words to be the lies they always were. “Completely?”

“That woman has immersed herself in this Hand of Thoth business. She may have disillusioned herself into a state of grandeur since I doubted it existed from the very beginning. It leaves me wondering what to do next now that our support from Dwarves in the war have left us.” Tarsian stood up and leaned over Evune. He pressed a hand against Evune’s chest, watching as Evune struggled weakly against his hold. He couldn’t breath. His throat started closing in and gasping for air. “I could kill you and it would be so easy. All my problems--gone.”

Wolf snarled briefly flashing behind the Archon when the air whipped around Tarsian forcing him to pull away. One of Evune’s blades took the moment to swing out and nick his cheek. A line of blood appearing. Evune breathed out, “It wouldn’t be easy. I would slaughter you.” Both Tarsian and he knew that the farther along he became, the harder it has been to control his blades. Nicking his face at all took too much out of him.

_Thank you, Wolf._

_“I do it because I care. No need to thank me.”_

“Perhaps.” Tarsian finished. He wiped the trail of blood. “But, I do need heirs. However, it may be done.”  Just as Tarsian stood in the doorway, Davan blocked the door with his arm. “The Black Divine requests that you don’t ever sit in a room alone with Evune from henceforth. The scroll request is in your library.”

Tarsian sniffed and Davan lifted his arm.

Evune grappled his hands in the air towards Davan as he swept forward into his arms. He pulled Davan close and his belly, heavy and round, made it difficult for him to hug but Davan found a way. “I'm sorry I didn't get here soon enough. Did he hurt you? If he even--"

"Just throwing his power around again.

“The bastard. Well, he won’t be doing that again.” Davan said as he pulled out the flask of oil and untied Evune’s robes. He poured the oil over his stomach and with both hands, massaged the oil in. He reached up and gently squeezed his chest, his nipples, his chest now fleshy and rounded as well. “I argued with him earlier—the monster threatened me with your safety as I’m sure he did to you. And I had truly believed you changed him for a time.”

Evune raised a hand on Davan’s arm. “Please, I don’t want to speak of him.”

Davan nodded and continued massaging oil into his skin.

Evune groaned. “Rub more. It hurts.”

Davan leaned forward and nuzzled against his neck with a kiss. He pressed his hands, circling the skin until his nipples dribbled. He picked up a towel and dabbed his chest.

“I feel disgusting and gross. I’m oozing from all the wrong places and I can’t move or breath or—

“I can keep massaging.”

Evune’s lips trembled and he sucked in a breath. “Please.”

Wolf huddled beside him on the other side of the bed and kissed away his tears. _“Da’lath’in. ma vhenan. You are near to the end.”_

_I know. I know._

Davan poured out more oil until Evune was greasy enough to cook in the sun. He squeezed and pressed along his hips, kneading until he reached his back to his shoulders. Davan leaned forward and kissed his stomach.

“Have you chosen names?”

“Yes.” Evune tapped a hand on his stomach and a small hand pushed up. Davan rubbed at the spot and repeated the motion. He reached up and lightly squeezed Evune’s chest again. Even more dribbled out. “I know it’s embarrassing, I—

“It’s natural and normal. Don’t be ashamed.” Davan put the oil away and heaved Evune on his side, stuffing a few towels in-between his legs before sliding in front of him in the bed. He wrapped an arm around his stomach and slowly dragged his fingers against his belly feeling the movement inside.

_“If you wish to ask, it is as simple as speaking.”_

_I feel gross. I don’t want to._

_“May I, then?”_

Evune carefully slid up his robe, feeling Wolf knead his thighs and his ass before rubbing his cock between his legs. Wolf tightened his grip on his ass, squeezing and rolling in his hands as he rammed forward.

Davan pressed his lips to Evune’s, feeling him thrust against him. “I’m here if you need relief.” He kissed along his neck, sucking and pressing his lips.

Evune rolled his hips back and Wolf growled in his ear before he thrust again, sliding between his legs back and forth. It didn’t take long before Evune released, his muscles lax with an exhale in relief. Wolf began licking his legs and his ass twisting his tongue in, causing another wet release until Evune was clean once again before pulling his robes back around.

Evune breathed out. “Do you—?”

Davan kissed Evune again, deepening it, twisting his tongue and brushing his hand against Evune’s nape before nipping his lips. “I’m fine.” Evune hummed, listening to the song Wolf whispered in his ears and the soothing warmth of Davan holding him. He fell into the easiest sleep he had in many months.

 

 

_“Da’lath’in. wake up.”_

Evune sighed and his eyes blinked open. He moved his hand behind him. Davan was gone.

“Leilani!” Evune called out. He pulled his leg over the edges of the bed. Silence. “Lei—

Evune clutched his stomach and water fell down from his legs, leaving a puddle on the floor beside the bed. Twinging struck in his lower half like a stab. He gasped out before he stood up wobbling. “Leilani, call the healer!” His hand swung out and caught the bedposts. He wobbled over to the door and exited into the hall. None of the guards were standing outside and the more he wandered, he didn’t see anyone at all. He reached the throne room and motioned to push the door when he heard a woman’s voice shouting.

“The somnaborium will prove to all of you! This was more than an obsession. This is an era for the future.”

 _“Don’t go in.”_ The voice whispered in his ear. _“The mirror. . .”_

_But it was taken?_

He heard Leilani scream and shoved open the door. Dr. Porenni and Elvia swiveled around, standing beside a large overreaching blanket. Tarsian and Davan were tied together in the corner, unconscious, with Leilani clutching her side bleeding.

Elvia held her hands tight and smiled icily, “Welcome to the party.”

 


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

“You sensed it then.” Dr. Porenni said excitedly and turned to Elvia. “I told you. I _told_ you. His blood _is_ the catalyst.”

Elvia’s mouth twisted. “You did.” She walked forward in a stride as Evune panted. “Which is why we waited until now. Knock him to his knees.” Two Tevinter guards appeared from either side of Evune and forced Evune to his knees. Elvia waved her hand and the guards saluted before taking their place at the entrance door. “I questioned the existence of the Somnaborium.” Elvia said as she prowled around him. It was nearly a parallel, and a mockery, of their first meeting. “As if Elvhenan, crushed by our ancestors, could’ve invented such a thing. I laughed.”

“When I tested your blood,” The doctor added, he shook his head, “We realized it may not be a weapon or an object but a person. A key. We theorized it the first time we clashed with your clan. Linnae kept telling us, 'It's a Fog Warrior. I know it. The demon says so.". If only his guilt hadn't festered so thoroughly.”

Evune dropped his hand to his lap, clenching and unclenching as the pain waved through. "You killed my clan. Not the Qunari.

“But,” Elvia said, “You knew that, didn’t you? Or at least you had a suspicion.”

Evune gritted his teeth.

 _“The enchantress knows nothing of Arlathan.”_ The voice hissed, its voice burring into a growl. It snarled in his ear as she spoke. He could feel Wolf’s anger spike.

“The Somnaborium is something the magisters, the Old Gods of Ancient Tevinter, created to harness that power—an orb. The elves were simply tools on that path to creation so that I will become a God, _the_ God, that Tevinter doesn’t _deserve_.” Elvia hissed. Her eyes wild and the frays of her hair burnt as if she had personally experienced her experiments. There was a wildness to her not unlike his sister clans after a Qunari attack.“Put him next to the slave.” Her footmen yanked him up and put him beside Leilani.

Evune lowered his chin and his voice, blocking his mouth from their sight, “What happened?”

“She came in with guards and took over. I don’t know where the others are.” Leilani gasped, pressing her hand into her bleeding wound.

“You need a doctor.”

Leilani shook her head. “The slave mark. Elvia is controlling them somehow. The pain keeps me grounded and from falling too deep.”

Evune lurched forward onto his side. _Shielan hasn't found the mage yet._  Leilani caught him and gave him a fearful look. Dr. Porenni rushed forward and pressed a hand to Evune’s chest and then to his stomach as it rippled. “He’s in labor, my lady.”

Elvia laughed. “Perfect. Then I won’t even _need_ him. Take him to his quarters and prepare him.”

Leilani tried pulling him back but one of the footmen kicked her and she fell to the ground unconscious.

“Leilani!”

* * *

 

 

And just like that, he was back in his room. Guards patrolling outside his quarters and Dr. Porenni sitting at his desk watching him with that scrutinizing gaze.

“You know, we were just going to cut the little creatures out.” Dr. Porenni said as he unfolded his bag of tools on Evune’s desk. “But then you had to wake up.”

_Wolf. Wolf?_

There was no reply. Evune exhaled sharply and closed his eyes as his hips spasmed.

_Wolf, I need you._

 He lifted up his back and then groaned, clutching his stomach. “I imagine that the only reason you’re here is because, what, your clan abandoned a non-mage like you and—

“If you know the story, repeating it to me is a waste of breath, isn’t it?” The doctor replied. He moved to the bed and pressed along Evune’s stomach. He reached into his belt and pulled out four beakers of liquid. “This won’t be easy either. I would say there’s about three in here. One extra just to be safe.”

“So?” Evune breathed and then closed his eyes as another pained wave hit.

“How do you think the Magisterium, the Archon, and all of Tevinter will react?” Dr. Porenni said with his usual flair of arrogance. “The curse of multiples and all. It’d be smarter to just give—”

“No.”

Dr. Porenni raised his hand in humorous surrender. “I’ll get my specimens either way.”

Evune opened his legs and twisted his hands on the bedposts behind him.

“And here comes baby number one!”

The labor was excruciating. The first one, a boy with black hair and brown eyes, came out quick even if it felt like his body was ripping itself apart. He was squirming, screaming, and his curls laid flat against his scalp.

“Lysandris.” Evune held him against his chest as he kept screaming. He opened his robe and let the small hands reach until he started suckling. He felt dizzy already. “That’s his name.” He didn't understand why he was telling the man this. He didn't deserve to know his children's names.

“He’s healthy.”

“What are you doing?” Evune hissed when Dr. Porenni pricked the baby’s hand and squeezed a droplet of blood into one of his beakers. The liquid went from white to red to blue.

“Testing for your immunity. Elvia will need it to use the weapon.” The doctor shook his head. “But he doesn’t have it, might be a mage, though, congratulations.”

Evune nuzzled Lysandris’ cheek. He had already fallen asleep in his arms after his fill when another wave of pain struck him. He grunted. “Fenedhis.”

Porenni grappled out his hands. “Hand him to me.”

Evune pulled him tight. “No.”

“You can’t—

“I can.” Evune hissed. He head fell back against the headboard and opened his legs again. He felt sweat falling from his forehead as he pushed. Clutching the right side of the bed, ripping the upper sheet.

“I almost see the head.”

Evune pushed one more time, feeling the consternation pull at his skin until he felt the pulling snap. The shrieks of his second. The doctor pulled out another towel and wrapped the baby in it—a girl. 

The doctor slid her into his arm. Breathing heavily, he felt dizzy, he said, “Noranni.” She had dark brown hair and when her eyes blinked open he saw purple, like Tarsian, but curved, pointed ears. She was a full mix of the both of them.

_“Da’lath’in. . .”_

Tears pooled in his eyes. Hatred and anger spinning in his chest.

_Where were you?_

_“Making preparations. Help is on its way.”_

_Fine. Good._ It did not strike him at the time to question how and why he was able. _We will let the doctor work. I would rather have one than none._

_“Twins?”_

Evune shook his head.

_“I’m sorry.”_

Evune rocked Noranni in his right arm as Porenni pricked Noranni’s arm and she immediately started screaming. He hushed against her cheek slowly calming her down. The doctor squeezed the second droplet out into another flask and the white turned red and white again. Noranni, a little more stubborn than her brother, didn’t want to suckle until she had no choice.

“Also, nothing. And a non-mage. Poor kid.” The doctor went quiet. “The life ahead won’t be easy. You’ll be lucky if Vesces doesn’t throw her out.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Evune questioned. He held the two close to his body, even though he was already overheated and he could barely keep his eyes opened. He couldn’t even tell how much time had passed. He blinked his eyes open. Fighting against the wave of exhaustion.

“Yes.”

“This wasn’t the way to prove them wrong.” Evune said as he watched a disquieted expression fall on the doctor’s face.

The doctor scoffed, “And spreading my legs was.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone.” Evune admitted.

“Because you were too weak to.”

Evune said nothing in reply.

 Metal crashed outside the door and the sound of a hard thud smacking into the wall sounded outside the door. The door crashed open. Sareethi burst through with a longsword in her hand. She stabbed it in the wall right next to Dr. Porenni’s head.

Porenni fell to his knees and gestured to Evune. “He’s safe. Everything’s good. Nobody has to get hurt.”

Sareethi pulled back her fist and punched him in the head, knocking him unconscious. She turned to Evune. “Twins?”

Evune winced as another contraction pushed through. “Triplets.”

Sareethi clenched her fists.

“I know, you don’t have to tell me.”

Sareethi unfurled her teeth. “I don’t care that they’re twins. This spirit you’ve been dabbling with. You _lied_ to me, to all of us. Who is he? How do you he isn’t the cause of--”

“Stop!” Evune shouted. Hearing his agitation, they quieted and he could feel their eyes staring up at him. “I—he isn’t evil. And they’re all I have. He’s been there when you couldn’t. He saved me at the Spire.”

She quieted and then crossed her arms. Leaning forward, she held onto Noranni’s little fingers. “I’m sorry, but you know what we have to do.”

“I know. I _know._ ”

_“Evune.”_

_I shouldn’t have to give up any more family._

“Tarsian would _sell_ them to keep himself safe. Or mark them to keep him under his control. Either way, they won’t be safe with you.”

Evune clenched his teeth as another wave of pain stabbed through. He kissed Noranni’s cheek and nudged her with it as she pulled away from his chest falling asleep. He closed his eyes. He kissed Noranni’s forehead again and held her close. “Take Noranni to Arnarel and Deshanna. Tell them to avoid direct contact for at least a year. I—She won’t survive here without magic.”

Sareethi opened her arms and Evune gently handed her over. “What about you?”

“Wolf will be here with me.” Evune clenched his hands as the contractions sped up again. He breathed out, “I need you to do this and we can handle the rest. Protect her.”

“We will discuss Wolf later.” Sareethi said, her voice rigid. “Jed is on his way. He has a way to lock the mirror. Just, be careful until then.”  She wrapped the towel around Noranni tight and without another look, ran off. Evune leaned back hushing Lysandris’ new onslaught of tears as he pushed again.

_“It is never a punishment to want, to dream it is only the feeling of despair when falling short.”_

_Wolf, ar lath ‘ma._

_“You will be fine, da’lath’in.”._

Wolf dipped the bed and appeared behind him, his legs around him and his right hand holding Evune’s tight. He kissed his fingers and then his lips. Evune leaned back against Wolf and started pushing again. His hand tightening and shaking in Wolf’s. He stopped and took a breath, panting, before starting up again. He could feel weakness thrum under his skin.

_“Just a little more.”_

Evune tightened his grip and pushed until he couldn’t breathe. All the pressure, the heaviness yanked at his insides until it stopped. The squeezing compressed his insides but he felt empty. There was nothing else heavy to push.

But he couldn’t hear it. There were no cries.

_“It’s alright. He’s alright.”_

Evune scrambled forward and found him, smaller than his brother and sister, with a patch of silver hair and pointed ears. His eyes blearily opened and light green, nearly blue eyes, sparkled up at him. He scooped him up and felt him breathe on his face.

“Lethmalloren.” He pressed a kiss on his chubby cheeks.

_“Good name. He will grow into it.”_

“Thank you.”

_“But. . .there is no time to rest.”_

Evune wrapped Lethmalloren in the shared blanket placing him on a nestled part of the bed as he stood up from the bed. There was no strength in his legs and he slammed to the floor. The strike shook his hip and he gritted his teeth, holding in the pained scream. Standing up again, he wobbled to his closet, pulling out a basket and lowered the babies into it. He picked up the basket and took a breather.

It was time to end Elvia.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He left his quarters and turned down the halls, down and up the steps with Lysandris and Lethmalloren gurgling in the basket. Elvia’s footmen marched down the hall and shouted, “There he is!”  His blades detached from his body and snapped out, throwing them into the wall and knocking them in the temple. He cradled the basket to his chest and when his blades got too slow, a growling ensued beside him. A corporal wolf lunged forward and ripped the rest apart—the air buzzing with electricity. It turned around and stared at him with its five eyes gleaming at him.

_Wolf?_

_“I’ll pave the way. Stay close.”_

The wolf ran ahead swiveling around the corner, knocking down whoever stood in their way.

 _Your eyes. . ._ The statue in the temple flashed in the back of his mind. _“You’re the connection. You **knew** about the Dragon Fire.”_

_“Ma vhenan, I will answer your questions but later.”_

 Evune agreed. _“I won’t make the same mistake, but we will discuss this. You will tell me the truth.”_

They reached the throne room and Elvia had ripped off the blanket.

“Elvia, it’s not worth it!” Evune shouted but his legs shook beneath him. He couldn’t run.

 That familiar large mirror with twisting vines and rainbow colored glass on the sides had a purple, green miasma oozing from it.  She opened her pocket and took a syringe out, injecting it into her arm. Her eyes filmed over before falling back into her natural blue. Breathing heavily, she used the sharp tip of the syringe and sliced her hand. The blood poured from her hand and spread into the mirror, spreading into the mirror itself until the glass shattered.

Her laughter poured out, echoing along the granite stone walls.

An orb spiraled out from the mirror and smacked into Elvia’s chest. She dropped to her knees screaming. Her voice reaching a pitch he had never heard before as the orb lit up, glowing brighter and brighter until it exploded with a wave of light.

Her screaming stopped.

Elvia’s form blurred until it became a shimmering light and claws extended from the form, then leathery black wings, and the head of a dragon. The creature screeched and burst through the throne room wall. Wolf threw himself out the gaping hole in the wall and disappeared through the city. Evune rushed over to Davan and Tarsian, untying them. He put the basket down and shook Davan’s shoulders. Davan’s eyes blinked open and he groaned in pain.

Evune wrapped his arms around Davan’s neck and hugged tightly. “Elvia has become the dragon. She wasn’t summoning Toth. She wanted to become _it._ ”

Davan tossed a bewildered stare, “A dragon? Did the guards take her away?”

Evune sighed and then patted his chest. “You’re still in a daze.” He looked over to see Tarsian still unconscious.  A row of guards marched in and the Black Divine right after.

“What’s going on?” He shouted. He strode over to the three of them and turned to Evune. “Tell me.”

“Elvia found a somnaborium and summoned a dragon.” Evune said bluntly. “But it could be worse.”

“How could it ever be worse?” The Black Divine furrowed his brows. The basket trembled and took his attention. “Are those the children?”

Evune nodded. “I could still be pregnant, for one thing.”  He turned towards the opening in the wall and said, “I have to go.”

Davan shook his head. “You can’t.”

“Watch them for me.” Evune placed Davan’s hand in the basket where Lysandris grappled towards it. “I trust you.”

“Where’s the third?”

Evune veered on Tarsian’s face when he repeated. “Where is it?”

“You—!” Evune lunged at his throat but Davan yanked him back, holding him back. “How did you know? What did you do?”

“That oil was to make sure. The Magisterium would never allow a mother of multiples as Consort. Elvia needed the certainty.” Tarsian breathed heavily. “We would get one. Elvia would use one. And a spare—

Evune broke out and punched him in the face. A hand snatched at his shoulder when he lifted to punch again. It was the Black Divine. “Bitterness cannot consume or it will devour everything.”

Evune hissed, “You who hasn’t suffered, been betrayed, had his people murdered doesn’t have the right to tell me I’m _too_ bitter. They were innocent. Does that not matter?”

The Black Divine tilted his head and replied, “I walk in the Maker’s light and follow his spirit. Situations are merely tests for the spirit.”

“Evunial, you must listen,” Tarsian held a hand to his bruised face and promised, “She betrayed me and will destroy the Imperium if she’s not stopped. Hate me later, but you must kill her, and I—I will make you my consort. I swear this.”

Evune spit on the ground. Davan raised his eyes to Evune who avoided his gaze and stared at the gaping hole in the wall.

A dragon.

 Great.

 

He rushed into one of Tarsian’s private sheds and found, low and behold, the Dracolisk cleaning its scales. He jumped on its saddle, layering it with blankets as he rode it through Minrathous, soreness stabbing into his limbs and joints. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would last. The hooves of the Dracolisk struck the pavement echoing in the silenced until they started to hear screaming. He sped towards the noises.

“Help us!”

“My home!”

“My wife is still inside!”

The dragon crushed the windows of the Proving grounds and blew flames of fire torching the nearest homes. The city was burning and the people were screaming, rushing to the nearest body of water and trying to take out the fires.

Oran stood near the stadium shouting at the others to retrieve pails of water and extinguish them. Mages ran around throwing icicles into the fires and leaving smoke in their wake. Evune slid to a stop on the Dracolisk. “Oran! Have the casteless joined too?”

“Many of them but some of the mad ones got free. We’re trying to focus on both, but—

"What about Shielan? Where is he?"

"He's inside the coliseum. Why?" Oran shouted back.

Evune knew Oran had to know the truth, but right now wasn't going to be that moment. “You know what we must do. They can't know that someone can summon an old god. Someone else will try. Someone will succeed."

Oran shouted. "What are you suggesting?"

"We will tell them there was a sickness."

"No," Oran shook his head, "No. If we do that, they'll blame us. They'll try to slaughter us.

"No one knows what it is yet. We'll say it is a disease orchestrated by the Valens against the Archon on all his slaves and former--that the source of it was the mines. The casteless--"

"I can't do that to them!"

"I will tell them that I was ill as well, Oran," Evune pleaded. He needed to understand that the present meant nothing if the future would repeat itself, "they will understand. The Liberati and the Casteless are victims."

"It is on your head if this ends badly." Oran hissed. He twisted around but Evune caught at his arm, tugging it back.

"This isn't just about us today. It's about Thedas too. It's about children. Please."

Oran snarled, “Leave. And don't you dare get yourself killed. The Liberati can't afford it.”

Evune clutched at his arm until Oran snatched his out. He jumped back on the Dracolisk, galloping through the bridges, bypassing the scalding heat of fires as house roofs started to fall apart and collapse. All of Minrathous was on fire and everywhere there was screams, people pleading for help that he wanted to help but couldn't. He sped up stopping when he reached the outside of the arena. He jumped off the Dracolisk and ran inside. The arena halls funneled the shouts and screams of those who were in the arena. The sound of crushing rock and the ground rumbling as the dragon flapped its wings, thundering through the air before landing swiftly.

The dragon’s body was burgundy red like wine and dried blood with scales sharp and serrated. Its wings had claws on the end and its feet were the length of two people. Its form was shifting in colors between black and red. The dragon snarled and whipped its tail, crashing into an arena podium. Rocks tumbled down and Keela was knocked to ground.

“Keela!” Gheeran shouted as she threw up a barrier protecting them from the flames. “Marci, don’t!”

Marcella rolled out from the barrier holding a scythe-like staff. She slammed it to the ground and a blizzard of ice struck the dragon, while Gheeran sent a paralysis hex at one of its legs. Marcella ran to Keela’s side struggling to lift her.

Evune rolled forward and swung his arms, his blades extending outward into a shield as the tail whipped out again. He turned to them both. “Move!” Keela hobbled at Marcella’s side until reaching Gheeran’s barrier.

 The dragon roared a high-pitched shriek and the arena trembled, the banners above snapped with wood foundations collapsing. Rocks crashed and rolled off the barrier.

“I can only create the barriers in intervals.” Gheeran said grunting as the barrier flickered. “We only have minutes before my next.”

Marcella added, with Keela still hanging on her arm, “I’m still regenerating. I can shoot some icicles but not a blizzard.”

“Keela,” Evune snapped his fingers in Keela’s face when her head lolled on her side, “wake up.”

Marcella placed her hand against her neck. “She’s passed out.”

“We need to find cover.” Evune said. He looked up at the dragon and it snarled, its eyes veering on him. “Throw the icicles. Now!”

Evune rolled out the barrier and swung out his blades, each one tossed forward slashed at the dragon’s legs. The barrier flickered out and with Gheeran’s help, Marcella and Keela ran for the tunnel exit. The dragon spit out more flames but Evune’s blades shield flew up. Heat seared across the blades stinging his fingers and it threw him across the arena. The dragon roared and inhaled, preparing for another flame when the Wolf lunged at its throat. Gnawing at its jugular, it swung back and forth until being thrown off. It landed on its haunches before lunging for one of its legs.

_It’s not slowing down._

_“It’s not a normal dragon. This is a cursed dragon with the soul of a mortal.”_

_So—it’s bad._

“Do you remember the song?” The wolf transformed until into a near solid figure, his body had never been more corporal with his long dark hair, rings along his hair strands, and the garb of loose clothing, that of a traveler. His face covered by a bone mask. His staff lined with the sharp teeth of wolves and wolf fur. “Evunial trapped a piece of Toth away. You will have to do the same.”

The Wolf spun his staff and a vortex of pure green light sucked in the sand and grabbed the dragon. The dragon soared in the air and its wings flapped throwing the whole arena into a dust storm in fighting the vortex pull. Evune raised his hands to block out the sand only to have to squint his eyes. Dust spun up in the air, swerving off his direction as Wolf transformed back into his other form and charged, leaping on its claws. Losing balance, the dragon smashed into the ground. An inhuman scream came from its mouth and purple miasma swirled into a tornado, covering the creature. When the miasma disappeared, Elvia stood there with black veins sticking out of her skin and her eyes pure white. It tossed Wolf sliding and he transformed back into his human form. Evune rushed forward and grappled the chest of Wolf. He was solid even though his form was barely corporal. His face still indiscernible as it shifted under a misty fog.

           Elvia opened her mouth and the purple miasma oozed out it formed into a tall figure. Wolf snatched Evune’s hand and ran towards the tunnels. When they reached the tunnel, Wolf swung his staff and a thick barrier of leaves, branches covered up the entrance.

“Over here!” Gheeran called out. She and the other two Hole members were crouched in a waiting area, sitting in benches. Keela was spread out on the bench still unconscious. Gheeran and Marcella whispering lowly with each other on another.

“Who’s your friend?” Marcella questioned. “And is he useful?”

Wolf ignored her question and knelt by Keela’s still form. Evune scratched his head. “He’s trustworthy.”

“Wait,” Gheeran jumped up, “where’s the baby?” She poked at Evune’s stomach. Evune swatted her hand.

“They’re with Davan. Safe. Until the dragon attacks the manor.” Evune’s eyes moved from Gheeran to Marcella, “We’re only delaying until Jed gets here.”

Wolf turned to Evune. “Your friend has been wounded. The blighted infection has spread.”

Evune shared a look with Marcella before running over to Keela. He checked her temperature, her breathing she seemed fine.

“What did your friend say?” Marcella questioned.

Evune replied, “Speaking to him directly isn’t a chore.”

“Evunial, you may know elvish but it wasn’t a part of my curriculum.” Marcella finished, annoyed.

He barely glanced at Wolf before he replied, “Keela is sick. . .because of the dragon.”

_Why are you speaking elvish?_

_“I’m not comfortable speaking with your friends.”_

Evune grinned. _They’re no different than anyone else._

_“That is what I fear.”_

Gheeran added, “She was acting weird earlier too.”

Evune’s grin fell. He walked over and could see her brown skin had turned pale. Her breathing quick. He picked up her hand and spindly black veins inked across her palm stretching across her arm.

“It’s darkspawn poisoning.”

Evune turned to Wolf. “Can we help her?”

Wolf shook his head.

“What is it?” Gheeran turned to the two of them.

“Darkspawn poisoning.”

Gheeran pressed a hand to her mouth. “Maker. The dragon it’s—it’s blighted!”

“The two of you are going to have to go back.” Evune said. “I’m not letting you two get infected. Help out the people take out the fires and send any legionnaires you see. They’ll be more resistant than you two. Go!”

Marcella and Gheeran shared a look before leaving out the tunnel exit back to the city.

“We don’t have any Grey Wardens. How do we kill a blighted dragon?” The distraction of the fire and the sickly Liberati would have to be “We need to send it back into the mirror.”

“The mirror is a direct line to the fade.” Wolf said, his hair clinking in his movement. “I will be the conduit.”

“So, you’ll get close to the mirror and then what?”

“The mirror will react to my presence and open. We will fight it in the Fade.”

Evune opened his mouth before shutting it and opening it again. He whipped around. “What are you talking about? People can’t go into magical worlds of dreams. It doesn’t—

Wolf dropped a hand to his shoulder. “You will see. We don’t have time to argue.”

Evune shook his head, “We’ll need to evacuate the manor and we still have to find the infected mage. People will keep getting her until we do.”

Keela snatched at Evune’s hand. “What’s going to happen to me?” Her breathing labored and Evune grasped her hand.

Evune exhaled. He tightened his hold on her hand. “What would make you comfortable?”

Keela blew out air. “I’m dead then. After everything you said and everything you promised, I’m still going to die.” She tossed her head and in a pained groaned pushed herself up. “I’m not ready to die. I don’t deserve to die. . . _you_ _owe me_.”

She was always his least vocal supporter and yet she’s the one sacrificing her life for this. It was unfair in all the ways he had started to see since living in this godforsaken country. “Tell me what I can do.” Evune pressed. “Elvia will pay for all of this. I’m not going to leave anything unturned even after she’s dead.”

“I heard,” Keela pursed her lips, “that my sister had a daughter. I want you to take her away from the Qunari. Promise me!”

Evune steeled himself and nodded. “What about your daughter? Your husband.”

Keela huffed out a laugh. “She died a few months after birth. My husband. . .had children with other women that I took care of. This was my last chance to prove to myself. I’m not weak. I’m not. . am I?”

Evune breathed out, “No. Never.”

Blood gurgled out from her mouth and she spit it on the stone flooring, twisting onto her side, convulsing. Keela gave another pained laugh, “Do it quick.”

Evune shook his head. “I don’t—

“He knows what I mean.” Keela stared at Wolf. “He knows.”

Wolf’s hand lit up. Evune pulled away when Wolf tapped his hand against her neck. Keela breathed her last breath.

 

“It’s not your responsibility.”

Evune scoffed. “It is when I made a promise to protect them.” He tried not to think of Noranni—whom he would never get to hear her first words or see her first steps. Or of Keela who reminded him of his constant missteps and mistakes to die for the cause she seemed to think little of. Even Davan. . .this wasn’t what he planned.

Evune and Wolf got on the Dracolisk and sped back towards the manor and the dragon flew up into the air of the arena, shrieking in the sky. It started to rain a downpour, sweeping out all the fires but flooding others. People scrambled up to swim through the water, climbing on bridges and houses that still held together. Groups of Liberati and casteless grouped together shoving people into safe places while mages created barriers and fixed as many roofs as they could.  The dragon twirled in the air, its wings spinning with electricity.

Evune’s eyes widened as he cracked the reins, speeding up the speed of the Dracolisk as it barely outran the rush of water behind them. Wolf created tree barriers and vortex holes to suck up as much water as possible but when the dragon plummeted to the river, swirling around in a ball of electricity, anyone within direct contact or even by the water was killed. Evune could hear their screams behind him. The sound of bodies thudding against walls and hitting the water with a hard splash.

_“Don’t look back.”_

“I know!” Evune hissed. He flattened his body against the Dracolisk as they sped forward and the smell of burnt flesh and the sounds of screams left in his ear long after spoken.

They reached the gate of the manor and slid to a stop. Broken carriages and plants were thrown around on every surface as if another storm had pummeled through. The windows were shattered and the shards covered the bricks leading into the front entrance. The smell of magic and electricity hovered in the air while the manor alone had become like a dilapidated graveyard. Running inside the manor, Evune went straight to the throne room. His feet tapping in the silenced halls.

“All of you have to leave!” Evune shoved open the throne room seeing Davan huddled with the basket, Tarsian against the wall whispering with the Black Divine. “We have to get the dragon back in the mirror.”

Davan stood up and leaned towards him. “You can’t stay here either. She’ll kill you.”

Evune retorted, “I can take care of myself but they, the babies, can’t. You can’t come running after me and risk them.”

Davan clenched his fists and threw a dirty look over at Wolf. “And you trust him? This stranger.”

“He’s not a stranger.” Evune pressed a hand against his temple and then clasped Davan’s hand. “He’s going to open the mirror. We need him.”

“But Jed is going to—

Wolf cut in, “We’ll need him to close it after. But I can open it for now.”

“I’m coming back after I find a safe place.” Davan shook his head. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

Evune shoved him in the chest and Davan’s back smacked into the stone wall, hearing the loud thud Lysandris woke up. He began to scream crying.

“If you care about me at all, you’ll do this. You _will_ do this.” Evune hissed, threatening.  “Because I will never forgive you if something happens to them.”

Davan slumped back. “If you die—

“I won’t.  Don’t let Minrathous be burned to the ground.” His forehead met Davan’s and they breathed for a moment before Evune pulled away, ushering their guards to take the Black Divine and Tarsian away to the Argent Spire. Davan loosened his hold and whipped around to Wolf.

“Don’t let him do anything stupid.” Davan told him.

Wolf tilted his head. “I’ll try.”

The Black Divine and the others, even the recalcitrant Archon, swept out the room without another word. The empty throne room, eschewed since his first understanding of the man the Archon truly was, held cracks in its flooring and stone remains.

  “Everyone has left the manor.” Wolf entered the now empty throne room.  “We must wait for the dragon to look for us. It will sense you and me by the mirror. It will try to protect it.”

Evune fell to his knees and Wolf lunged forward, catching him to lower him carefully to the floor. Breathing heavily, Evune leaned on Wolf’s shoulder. “I’m almost at the end of my abilities. I don’t know how much longer I can keep going.”

Wolf agreed. “When we enter the Fade, the dragon will turn back into Elvia’s form but still with the mind of the dragon. It’ll be weakest then to kill it.”

“Just like that. No Grey Wardens needed.”

Wolf snorted. “Not this time.”

“Lethmalloren. . .he is your doing isn’t he.”

Wolf tightened his hold. “He’ll be healthy. There will be no—

“The point is that you _lied_ to me.” Evune clutched Wolf’s robes. “You used me so that you could be outside my body so that you could become stronger. I noticed your changes and those dreams I had at the start. I’m not an idiot.”

“You could’ve broken our connection. Jed knows how.”

“I saw the death of Mythal. All throughout legend, they blame you, Fen’Harel.” Evune met Wolf’s gaze, unerringly. “When it was my ancestor who did it.”

“It was not Evunial’s fault.” Wolf lifted Evune up, helping him stand straight, locking his knees and funneling a soothing healing spell to spread. “Mythal was less of a tyrant, but a tyrant nonetheless they knew what would be their undoing.”

“I didn’t do it out of pity.” Evune remanded. He let Wolf pull away. And Wolf’s blurred face cleared into its recognizable form, his green eyes thoughtful and worrisome. “I did it because I think they owe you even if it’s not theirs’ or your fault.”

“Your kindness will be undoing, ma vhenan.”

Shrieks of the dragon fell to their ears and the ground trembled as the dragon slammed down in front of the hole it created earlier.

Wolf ran towards the mirror and his arm lit up in a bright light. The mirror flashed and strings of green vines floated in the air. “It’s open. Catch its attention!” Wolf ran into the mirror as the dragon swiped its claws and roared again. Evune whipped out his blades and struck its claws, making it lose its balance. The dragon puffed a stream of smoke through its nose and roared again, rushing after him, stomping his claws in the granite flooring of the throne room.

And he threw himself through the mirror.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

They appeared in a coliseum-like area with broken white podiums, green clouds, and architecture floating in the sky. Evune swiveled around staring at the floating rocks and the floating stairs. It looked Elvhen. The twirling metal like flowers and stone carefully carved as if shaped from water.

“Where are we?”

“My old home.” Wolf admitted. “There’s nothing of worth here anymore but I figured it a good place as any.”

The whole building wobbled and the mirror flashed as the dragon came through the mirror. The dragon was then struck by yellow and white electricity pouring out from the podiums. It shrunk back to the form of Elvia with its eyes still white and black veins sticking out of her skin. The floor underneath her turned to transparent tentacles swirling and waving around her before it shot out smacking into Wolf’s shoulder. He flew and slammed into a podium, the rock falling into pieces around him. Evune lunged and began swinging his blades. Each time he crept closer to it, the tentacles would swipe out, smacking out a podium, knocking them aside, or dragging them to the ground. Wolf threw himself around Evune and they rolled to the ground when the creature spun its tentacles together and crashed it against another podium.

“You made a great error, little moon warrior.” The creature hissed, whipping out another tentacle. “Trusting the greatest betrayer, the great trickster.”

Evune tossed out his blades, blocking the strike of a tentacle before throwing a line of blades to cut the tentacles in half. The tentacles merely regrew to replace the damage.

“Did he tell you, you wouldn’t need a Grey Warden? Did he even tell you why?” Elvia’s voice stringing those familiar words together and Evune shoved down the smallest of doubts. He would kill her first before handling Wolf.

Wolf threw a long pointed line of ice, knocking the creature closer to the wall. He twisted his hand in the air and a vortex in the shape of an hourglass caught it in a trap. The creature screamed and started slamming its fists against the barrier.

“The barrier won’t stay long.” Wolf said. Evune had been letting the words of the creature stew in his mind. He knew that Wolf was lying to him and withholding information, but he would trust Wolf. Wolf had protected him, even if for selfish reasons, Evune would respect his wishes—to a point at least.

“What do we do now?” Evune said. His blades reattached to his arm and shoulders. Wolf outstretched his hand and led him up the winding stairs of his old home. Up and up they went, the floating stairs taking them through the clouds until they reached a library. In this library, in its center sat a bed of blue silk and soft cotton. It was an altar for the death by its design. The mottled stone slab with the spiders of the Fade and their webbing. The cracked bottles beneath his feet shattering under every press. And in this bed, this altar, sat the body with the mirror image of Wolf.

“This is my body. Still stuck in Uthenera.”

“You’re even older than I thought.” Evune said, the words caught in his throat and humor replacing the feeling he knew to be trepidation. “Are you going to merge with it?”

“Yes and no.”

Evune sighed. He pressed a hand against his temple. “ _I_ know that _you_ know I hate it when people say that. Explain.”

Wolf walked over to his body and said, while looking down at it, “The Fade and reality, if you believe it is separate.”

“It is.”

“It is and it is not.”

Evune pinched his bridge. He waved him to continue.

His hand reached out to touch his mirrored face only to float through it and turn transparent at the meet. “The Fade and the world overlaps in many places but not in the Fade or in the other. When I am awakened here, I will awaken in the Fade and in the world we came from. My two pieces of one whole.”

“Then, what are you?”

Wolf tilted his head down. “I’m an echo of my Fade self.”

Evune said carefully and measured. “You’re—you’re not real.”

“I am so far as—

“Do you have a body?” Evune remarked. His voice raising speed and pitch. “Can you eat? Do you breathe? Will you ever do one of those things?”

Wolf’s eyes dropped to the ground. “Ma vhenan, you must understand—

Evune cut in sharply, seething, “Because I know you would never bring me here to _kill_ you. Because someone who does that is cruel and heartless and—

Evune raised his eyes and exhaled sharply in the air before pressing a hand against his temple. He pressed his eyes closed. “How do I get rid of you then?”

“I wasn’t trying—

“It doesn’t matter. Tell me how.” Evune’s gazed dropped on the familiar flasks littered around the floor. They were healing potions and summoning circles etched on their glass. Whatever he had been doing before his death, he had been obsessed.

Wolf’s hands twitched before he dropped his hands to his side and nodded. “We must kill the dragon but its blight will go to the first open container. A demon in this realm.”

“Then, there will be a Blight. Soon.”

“Yes.”

Evune breathed heavily. It was a thought for another day. He must focus on the now. “Must you be awakened before I kill the dragon.”

“Yes.” Wolf grabbed Evune’s nape and pressed him close, feeling wetness hit his cheek, “I won’t remember anything once I join my body. It will be as if I was sleeping the whole time. I will know nothing of this new Tevinter, of its people—of you. I—I did not know that I was an echo until it was too late. When I heard your mind through the mirror, I knew—”

“It’s because of Dragon Fire then.” Evune said incredulous. “All of this is because of this fucking mirror and my _blood_.”

“There are few people who can walk the fine line between the Fade and through the Veil. Had anyone else found that mirror, I would still be trapped.”

Evune gritted his teeth. After everything, his birthright was going to be the thing that took Wolf away and gave him, what? A seat as Tarsian’s Consort. He shook his head. Evune clenched into his tunic before shoving him away. He wiped his eyes and then straightened his shoulders. “All I need is the details on how to kill the dragon.”

“We could meet again, one day, and—

“In all of Thedas. By accident, no less. You think that we’ll just stumble into each other’s arms and fall in love.” Evune’s voice raised. “You are not that naïve.”

“I wanted you to be hopeful.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine like I was before you and like I’ll be after you.” Wolf tried to clasp his hand but Evune knocked it away.

“The dragon will need to be separated from its soul and the corruption.” Wolf wandered towards one of his bookcases and turned around it, disappearing from sight. Evune followed and found him with an orb in his hand. “This is where my power is locked away during Uthenera. You will use this to awaken me and then when the dragon is killed the corruption will be purified. The soul will return to the orb.” He dropped the glowing orb into his hand and it glowed a deep dark blue before it shut off.

Evune stood in front of Wolf and his tangible body, holding the orb, motionlessly. Wolf raised his eyes to his but Evune couldn’t pull his gaze away from the orb. Something within it attracted him. Evune snapped out of it and met Wolf’s gaze. When Wolf said, “I did not lie, ma vhenan.”

“Stop explaining yourself! You’re making me angrier. I’ve already,” Evune’s voice broke, “I’ve already lost too much today.”

Wolf pressed his thumb against Evune’s lower lip and pulled him into a kiss. Evune would’ve pulled away or even cut him considering how angry he was, but, this was their last chance. Wolf wrapped both hands behind his head and deepened the kiss, nipping and biting his lip before laying a kiss on his cheek.

“There’s a reason why Lethmalloren was so small.” Wolf said before brushing his thumbs against his cheek. Evune stared at him searchingly. Wolf continued, “Our hearts will always be one.”

“He’s not just—the magic—he’s our,” Evune choked back a breath. He closed his eyes and slammed his fist down. “I won’t thank you for lying to me.”

“I know.”

“You used me.”

Wolf’s crestfallen expression as he said, “I know.” Was almost worth it.

Evune took the orb and placed it in front of them. The orb spiraled wildly in the air and a wave of light spread across them.

Wolf hung his head as his body turned transparent and was sucked into the orb. He touched the air feeling for an imprint of Wolf or anything at all but he was gone. A green smoke swirled around the body stuck in stasis devouring it until there was nothing left except for the impression of a body no longer there. Evune touched his fingers against the soft blanket in the bed and yanked it up, rolling it up to hold under his arm.

He took the orb and stood in front of the trapped creature still screaming and banging its hands against the cage. The orb lit up like it did earlier and the creature began slamming its head against the cage, its screams turning into high-pitched shrieks tearing the infrastructure apart as the stairs started to collapse, the books fell from the bookcases, and the floor trembled.

The creature screamed, “He lied to me! There is no truth in the Maker!” Bit by bit, it turned to particles its body falling into ashes. The cage disappeared and the ash flew into the air leaving a gray green wisp floating behind. The orb fell to the ground with a thud and turned off.

“You’re not done.” Evune kneeled and tapped against it. He picked it up and shook it in the air. “You stupid thing.” The gray green wisp spread in the air and like a cloud of gas flew up before falling down and stuck to his skin. It sunk into his body and Evune clutched his chest, coughing. His hands grasping at the floor, dizziness overtook him and everything went dark.

 

 

 


	23. Epilogue

_30 th day of _ _Pluitanis_

 

Things were underway for the renovation and repairs of Minrathous. Without relying on the other cities for help, magisters, casteless, and Liberati worked together to rebuild their homes. The Ambassadoria paid surfacers from other cities to come in and help with renovations with stronger stonework and metalwork. The discussion of the illness during an open forum did head way for bias in Liberati and Casteless employment. Evune suggested measures of precaution and safety net labor for them that worked for the most part. Even amidst such instability, the loss of a consort and the fear of disease, Minrathous was in celebration. There were magisters throwing feasts and partying through the night, spinning their dresses and robes under the cold glare of the dragon’s stare. Tevinter was easing itself back into what it believed was stability.

Inside the Argent Spire, it was one of the few buildings left relatively undamaged. Templars greeted him on his way through the halls albeit Davan was nowhere to be seen. Evune and him had discussed that he would be Lysandris’ father and his mother would be a woman who passed during childbirth. In the meantime, he would meet with the Black Divine in a closed-off meeting room drinking chocolate drinks to play nice with the man who told him he had been overreacting. He had forgotten that this was the same man who called him, "Elf." just as coldly as Elvia.

The Black Divine dipped his hand in a crystalline bowl discolored by his licorice candies. His divine rings shining brighter than the bowl. They sat at the table cornered off from the others in the spire on a balcony overlooking the garden, staring at one another, waiting for one of them to speak first. Evune took a careful sip of his drink before laying the cup down.  “The Valens family is going to receive the worst backlash of all in this. Is there anything I can do?”

"With this _illness_ that my niece created, we have no other choice but to accept it." The Black Divine reassured him with a placating smile. “Danarius will be punished for turning a blind eye. It is _unfortunate_ that the doctor disappeared. We hoped to learn more of this disease Elvia created."

"Perhaps it is better to let sleeping hounds lie."

"Ah, but in Tevinter it is a Phoenix." The Black Divine added, his voice light for the threat he made, "They're not known for sleeping soundly."

Evune's eyes flashed. Too much of Elvia's circumstance did not make sense. Perhaps it was Danarius' push and Tarsian's arrogance, but her final words. . . "I imagine there is much of Tevinter for me to still learn. And in so, I hope that your eminence does not hurt in this backlash."

"Make no doubt about it. I may be Valens but I am the Divine first. The Maker has much in store for those who thwart his way.”

“He does indeed.” Evune mirrored his smile, feeling his cheeks pull taut like forced metal.

 “Have you written up your genealogical records? We can’t go forward with the process until.”

Evune pulled out from the inner pockets of his tunic a browned scroll with gold edges and handed it to the other man taking great care to make sure their fingers don’t brush. The Black Divine unrolled it and began to skim. He cleared his throat. “You kept the blood mage?”

“Of course, Linnae was Arnarel’s brother. He’s family still.” Evune said with his hands clasped on the table, his face unmoving.

“It also says here that Lavellan will be your clan name, Noranni, your niece, and Leto, your son.”

Evune twisted his mouth in distaste. “If you’re going to use that name, withhold it from being said in front of me.”

The Black Divine tsked, “Tarsian may be a self-involved fool but he was right about your son’s name. It’s too elven, especially for a future archon.”

“I could see that being a problem.” Evune said, not interested in rehashing an old argument. He questioned. “Has Davan already submitted his papers?”

“Yes, Lysandris has been written up as his heir. All your letters have been crossed and dotted. Congratulations.”

“It would be better if I could get Tarsian to skip over his mourning period and come out for appearances, but—

The Black Divine, full of propriety and morals, added, “I imagine having to see the mirror that caused his consort’s death every day would be punishment enough.”

“It would if he ever came to my room that often.” Evune said coolly. “The Eluvian is safe in my storage closet. It’s been closed permanently by a trusted friend.”

“And if that person lied to you, then what will you do?”

“I will have to take responsibility for my mistakes,” Evune said calmly, his eyes flashed, “but no one can ever guess when one is wearing a mask, can they? Taking responsibility can be a hard task.”

“Masks are created for a purpose.” The Black Divine said, his eyes perusing. “They always give the appearance, even the ideals, of someone who doesn’t exist.”

Evune formed his lips into a mock smile. “I imagine that is the magic in those who pretend to be what they are not. Mages are not required interestingly enough.”

“Indeed.” The Black Divine leaned in his chair nodding.

 

 

Evune stood outside the Argent Spire and waited for his carriage to appear. The silence in his mind that was once a godsend was now an uncomfortable loneliness. The carriage driver appeared and opened the door, guiding him in. “We’ll be there in no time Lord Consort.” The villagers continued to rebuild the city day in and day out. There was much work to do in the way the Liberati, the Casteless, and even the Magisterium. 

He would not be bored if he were ever worried.

The carriage transported him to the Imperium Fora and he traversed through the private entrance—the very one Elvia had used to smuggle him through—to be dressed. Marcella was already in the halls shouting and yelling at the seamstresses flailing with measurement tools and small cloth knives in hand. Her helpers scurried around cleaning up dropped cloth, sweeping up snipped pieces of paper, and folding extra rolls of material. “You’re here and you’re late. I swear if my dress is anything like this—

“At least you’ll have practice.” Evune grinned. “How is the wedding planning?”

“I thought I would be in charge of it but Gheeran got a hold of one of the wedding ideas and it’s almost like a rage demon possessed her.” Marcella huffed with her hands on her side. “I opted out of everything but the dresses and the color scheme which is going to be a battle. I know it.”

Evune said, feeling a pang of regret if only for a second, “You’ll be married to someone you love. It can’t be too awful.”

Marcella smiled. The burn scar stretching across her face did nothing to abate the brightness of it. Marcella grazed against Evune’s hand only to jump back at his sudden gasp. His hands thrown against the wall to keep him steady.

“Kaffas!” Marcella caught him by the shoulders and pulled him to the chair. She snapped at the servants to leave and one of them to get a cup of cold water. “Davan told me about the hand thing but I was careless.”

Evune exhaled sharply as Marcella moved away. “You mean you were curious.”

“At least I know how sensitive it is. I’ve already made some ideas for gloves.” Marcella answered as about as apologetic as she’ll ever be.

Evune clenched and unclenched his hand as streaks of blue flashed around his wrist and hand.

Marcella guided him to the dressing room where his Lord Consort outfit sat in ready. White satin covered by golden dragon claws sweeping across the tunic and pants like fire. A high collar with a black sash wrapping around him in three-ways with a silver Vesces Crest bracelet to hold it up.

“I’m not wearing those boots.” Evune pointed downward.

Marcella sighed. “It’s Tevinter. Not Seheron.”

“I want to give them a reminder of my elven heritage. Be creative.” Evune grinned.

Marcella tapped her chin before crossing her hands thoughtfully. “I’ll make varghest leather feet straps with a golden band. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it.”

 

 

 

 The Magisterium and the Ambassadoria delegates sat in their seats waiting for the Black Divine to hit his mallet. Evune watched from the corner wearing his clothing, if only for ceremony and a long hooded robe covering his face.

The delegates and many of the magisters whispered amongst themselves on the purpose of this robed figure. Their meeting was unscheduled until the day after the attack of the dragon. There was no mention of how Elvia became the dragon or the strange curse she put on those who had not the Valens clan crest but the Vesces. In fact, where the stories concerned Elvia there was nothing more than the twisted influence of a demon. A clever woman pulled into the tricks and plays of a demon as many do. A story told too often. The Black Divine twisted the tale nearly as much as Evune leaving the story nothing but a fairy tale of learned deception. A story for teaching. 

 The Black Divine struck the mallet.

“Today’s unscheduled meet is to vote on the Archon’s new consort.”

He felt the eyes of the magisters and the delegates as he walked forward. He couldn’t help but let the smile pull his lips. He lowered the hood and the first eye he saw was the head of Clan Antonidas who said, “Aye!”

The Black Divine rolled his eyes. “If anyone wishes to allow Evunial Lavellan to become the new consort. Say, ‘Aye’.”

Except for a few, like Valens and Varas, it was unanimous, even Tarsian said it as promised. Perhaps the best part of it was his reaction to the dwarven delegates full support. He may have tried to swindle him once and twice but he had learned his lesson this time.

 "Now onto Laetan rulings, safety nets in place for our Liberati borne with magic."

Evune, guided by a Templar to his new seating, sat down allowing the stares to fall over him as he took the upper banners where Elvia once sat.

 

  

 

Lysandris’ temporary room in the settlement was connected to Davan’s. The crib was dwarven make but padded all over for his comfort. He lifted him up awed at the weight of him. Lysandris was a good stone or two heavier than his brother. Lysandris slapped a hand on Evune’s cheek and drooled on his shoulder before falling asleep. Evune hunched forward holding him a little tighter before nuzzling his cheek on Lysandris’.  He carefully laid him down even as he whipped out his small, chubby hands to cling to Evune’s. Evune’s hand briefly flashed blue before he pressed a kiss on the chubby wrist and left the room. Lysandris would be a mage, there was no doubt.

 He knocked on the door, reaching Oran’s room, hearing silence. Without hearing any sounds on the other end, he opened the door to find Oran looking over paperwork in his bed. He crept over and said, “Oran.” He half-expected Oran to ignore him. They hadn't spoken much since the attack and Elvia's death. Oran turned around with a grin. He stood up and pulled Evune close. “I missed you. More than you’ll ever know.”

"I'm sorry for using the illness as a cover. I know it hurt you."

"I know. I don't like, but the law proceedings you have in motion are a good start." Oran brushed a hand against his cheek. "Had you died, I would've been known as one of the greatest idiots this side of the ground." A hand knocked against the door and it creaked open. He gestured Davan to sit on the bed too.

Davan spoke, “You told us it was important.” 

"It is." Evune motioned towards the door. "Shielan, could you come out?"

The Titan entered the room, his eyes ablaze, and both Davan and Oran scrambled to stand up. Evune warned them, "It's okay. We're safe. This is what we wanted to talk to you about."

Shielan strode forward. "Your Boss, Shielan, died in the kidnapping. I am what you call a Titan."

Oran stood up and then carefully, slowly, sat back down. Minutes past by until he stood up and said, "No." He hissed again. "No." And left the room.

"That could've gone worse." Davan added. 

"There's more." Evune raised his eyes. "It wasn't an illness. Not really. And we never found the mage at its center."

Davan hunched forward, pressing his fingers up against his brows, deepening as he thought longer and longer.

"Fuck."

 

 

 

 

In the dead of night, he took out of his desk Jed’s crushed mix of fruit seeds and stirred them in a flask he had hidden away in his closet.  The flask lit up and Evune blinked before he started laughing. He laughed hard enough to fall over, holding his stomach, still sore from labor.

“Leilani!”

Leilani came into the room and he opened his arm to hug. He clutched her tight. “They took off your bandages, right?”

She sighed. “Yes, I promise.”

“Good, then I need you dip Tarsian’s bandages in this salve for the next few days.”

Leilani blinked. “Why is it lit up?”

“It’s the glitterdust properties.” Evune said before swinging a coat robe over his clothing. “It adds a little bump to it.”

He walked over to the next room into the nursery where Lethmalloren slept, his small hands shaking in his sleep before he started whimpering. His eyes had turned a light foam green and his face, flushed red, as he waved his pudgy arms in the air. His voice whining in the air with a soft, “Mwrah!”.

Evune pressed a kiss against his cheeks and lifted him up into his arms, opening his tunic just enough for him suckle. His eyes began to droop and his mouth went slack. Evune patted him on his shoulder until a babied garble burped out. He avoided the mental grenades of imagining two more cribs in the room. The room was more than large enough for it. For the renovations being done, he planned on building more than a few more rooms for Lysandris and Noranni to visit. He hadn’t even discussed with Arnarel and Deshanna about his place in her life.

The best thing for her would be to be raised in a loving, average home like he was. If he had to be honest, he may have sentenced his sons to a life of hard expectations and hard truths. Lethmalloren raised a fist to his mouth and giggled. Evune clutched him close and then kissed his cheek with what he hoped was a hundred times before laying him back in his crib.

Wolf missed his first laugh.

He left his quarters and motioned to Emrynek to keep guard, before leaving to the Liberati settlement. The guards he stocked around the castle were all Liberati, replacing most of Tarsian’s and all of Elvia’s previous confidants. Lanehn greeted him at the carriage.

“I’m glad you’re well. It seemed touch and go there.” He told Lanehn. The other elf grinned.

“Ah, you know how us elven work. There’s no sleep when an Old Gods on the creep.”

Evune cocked his head. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

“I’ll even tell Lethmalloren when he sprouts up. The lad’ll appreciate it.”  Lanehn gestured the carriage driver and he was off. He listened to the wheels roll over the rocks and broken tatters of houses that couldn’t be fixed and roads unrepaired.

The driver knocked against the carriage, “Sir, there’s people out here. . . they’re wishing to thank you.”

Evune pressed the window of the carriage door opened to see rows of Minrathous’ people standing along the road with candles and lit flames floating above them. A lanky young boy walked forward with a Laetan badge. The rows of people opened up allowing the carriage to pass by.

"What--?"

"They're thanking you, sir."

Evune pressed back against the seating and held his face in his hand, squeezing the upper half of his face as rivulets of water dripped down his arm. He'd  _finally_ made a change. He helped.

But he didn’t deserve it. Not yet.

He still had Keela's statue to build. 

**Author's Note:**

> If there's something you'd like to point out like DA inconsistencies or horrible grammar and punctuation(which I know is there but I'm too lazy to review it for the 900th time), then comment or PM me. I think it's been pretty well-edited but since it was by me and I'm a "little" sub-par in the category, well, yeah.


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